


The Choices We Make

by CarpeDiemForLife



Category: TharnType the Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, tiny bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDiemForLife/pseuds/CarpeDiemForLife
Summary: Type's plan to expose Lhong succeeded. Five days later, Tharn gets a text from his former best friend. He decides to honor Lhong's request and meet with him one last time. Alone, they are able to speak openly about the circumstances of Lhong's betrayal, and each boy comes to a better understanding of the other.Updated: The story continues, as Tharn and Type work through their own issues regarding Lhong and other things. Then, years later, a chance reunion brings latent tensions to the surface, but may also provide an opportunity for forgiveness...
Relationships: Tharn Kirigun/Type (TharnType)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 191





	1. Damned If I Don't

It was five days after— _that night_ —when Tharn’s phone buzzed with an unexpected text. Although maybe it shouldn’t have been unexpected. Maybe he’d been a fool to think it would never come.

His pulse quickened. What was this feeling? Fear? Guilt? Tharn read the text once, then again, then again. With each read he felt more nervous. More upset and confused. What should he do? What should he say? Should he say _anything_?

He threw a subtle, worried glance to the left. Type was leaning against the opposite arm of the couch, textbook propped up on his stomach, feet stretched out in Tharn’s lap. Tharn smiled. There was a wrinkle in Type’s brow as he moved his pencil along a page of the textbook, mouthing the words as he read. Adorable. Tharn’s heartbeat began to calm.

Tharn had tried to leave him alone so he could focus on studying, but Type was having none of it. All week he hadn’t let Tharn out of his sight except for classes, barely even able to stand it when he and Tharn weren’t physically touching. He’d actually started this study session with his _head_ in Tharn’s lap. But when Tharn proved to be a distracting menace at such close range to his scrunched brow, long eyelashes, tempting cheeks, and delicious lips, Type moved to the other side of the couch.

Still, he refused to lose all contact with Tharn. Hence the feet. As much as Tharn protested that such behavior was unnecessary, he was fine, really, nothing bad was going to happen to him, Type refused to be swayed.

In truth, Tharn loved it. He wasn’t used to the feeling of someone else wanting—no, needing, desperately, to keep him safe. Usually that was Tharn’s job. And while he suspected that some of Type’s stubbornness on the matter stemmed from his own need for reassurance that Tharn was still there, still his, Tharn was warmed by the care regardless.

Noticing that he had an audience, Type looked up. A second of shyness, before his natural prickliness snapped into place.

“What? What’s that look for?” he challenged.

His tone was not half so intimidating as it had once been. A smile crept up Tharn’s face. He didn’t look away. This only caused Type to blush and bluster harder.

“I’m not your dinner, am I? Damn. Look at something else if you’re going to look like that.”

Tharn hummed, lips downturned in a thoughtful pout. He traced his fingers over the bare skin of Type’s calves. “And…” He leaned forward, getting as close to Type as his seat allowed, which was not _nearly_ close enough. “What if I _want_ to have you for dinner? Will you serve yourself to me?”

“Asshole Tharn,” spit Type. Tharn grinned, unable to hide his affection for the other boy. Type reached to hit him over his textbook, but Tharn caught him by the arms and pulled him forward, surprising him. He fell half on top of Tharn. Type’s complaints ceased and his eyes moved towards Tharn’s lips. Tharn felt the heat rising between them.

Taking pity on his boyfriend—Type really did need to study after all—Tharn rewarded him with one long, slow, deep kiss before pushing Type back against the other arm of the couch. Leaning down, he kissed the soft skin of Type’s foot. When he looked up again, he was gratified to see that the action still brought a shy, pleased smile to Type’s face, as much as he tried to hide it. His adorable little alpha wife.

Tharn took a deep breath. “You keep studying. I’ll go grab us some dinner.”

Back ramrod straight, Type grabbed at him before he could get up. Discomfort and determination showed equally in his expression.

“I’ll go with you.”

Smiling, Tharn removed Type’s death grip from his arm. He kissed all ten of his fingers, one by one. Then he held Type’s hands in his own.

“Ai’Type… Thank you. Thank you for caring about me.”

Type blushed but didn’t look away.

“I know that you’re worried for me, but I’ll be okay on my own. You can’t go with me everywhere.” He smiled, brushing his thumbs over Type’s knuckles. “I really am okay. Just knowing that you’re at home waiting for me. I’m not afraid.”

Obviously affected by Tharn’s speech, Type nonetheless made one last ditch effort to win the battle. “That’s the problem,” he shot back. “You have plenty of good reason to be afraid. To want to curl up in bed and hide under the covers and scream until your voice is raw. To never want to come out again. I… know that I did. For a long time. But you… just… seem fine. Or close to it, anyway. I’m afraid that you… aren’t really… you know.”

As though lit by a fuse, his concern blazed into something hotter, brighter. “What if he comes for you? Huh?”

Tharn’s fingers curled around his phone, squeezing hard. He shifted it until it was tucked safely beneath his leg, hidden out of sight.

“What if he finds you? Have you even thought about that?”

Sighing, Tharn dropped his head lower. He was still looking in Type’s direction, but had his eyes fixed blankly on the area of his chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“I’ve thought about it.”

“And?”

The question hung in the air between them. Asking so much, yet Tharn wasn’t sure either of them could say what Type truly wanted to know. Instead he looked into Type’s eyes and answered a different question.

“It’s not that I’m fine,” he said. His instinct when he was somber was to pout, but right now he made sure not to. He didn’t want Type to see any weakness in him or they would never move forward. He needed to appear sturdy, strong. “I’m not. I think about him sometimes. I have nightmares.”

Type’s grip tightened on his in response.

“I just don’t need to do any of those things because… I have you. That’s the difference, Ai’Type. Back then, you didn’t have anyone. But now you do. And I do too. That’s all I need to know that I’m okay.”

He gave Type a moment to compose himself, swallowing down the tears that had come to his eyes. Then, with a heart so full of love for Type that he felt liable to burst with it, Tharn gave a teasing smile and leaned forward. “So… does that mean you’re going to let me eat you or can I get us dinner?”

After a bit more cuddling and teasing, Type consented to let him go. Tharn left the apartment with a big smile on his face.

As soon as the door closed behind him, his smile fell away. He pressed a hand flat against the door and leaned against it, as though his body were suddenly too heavy for him to lift alone. He stayed there a moment. Then he pushed off, propelling himself down the hallway. The rectangular shape in his back pocket was like a brand, growing hotter by the second, demanding his attention.

But not here. Not yet.

Tharn stepped out of the elevator on the first floor and immediately pulled out his phone. He came to a full stop as he read the words again, as though he didn’t already have them memorized. There weren’t many, after all.

 _If you ever considered me a friend._ Followed by a place, date, and time. The place was a nearby park he recognized. The date was tomorrow. The time was 6am.

The text came from an unknown number—except it wasn’t unknown to Tharn. He knew it like the back of his hand. He’d simply deleted the name that accompanied the number from his contact list.

Heart thumping. Palms sweating. A weight like a boulder pressed down on him. It seemed a miracle that he didn’t collapse under it. It was the weight of sins that Type insisted did not belong to him, but Tharn knew better. They were his, and he couldn’t breathe.

Now this… What was he supposed to do? He didn’t want another sin to add to those he already carried. But piling up sins seemed to be his destiny. Either way, either choice he made would feel like a sin. Meet face to face with the man who had manipulated and lied and schemed? Who had hurt innocents, destroyed _lives_? Unthinkable. But to ignore the person he’d considered his best friend for four years? Cut off without a word, his last request abandoned like a child in the street? Unbearable.

Arms wrapped around his stomach, Tharn curled in on himself and began to cry.

Long after Type drifted off, Tharn lay awake. Over and over he read the text, that single message, the characters seared into his retina. Still he kept reading them, as if this would help make his decision.

There had been no follow-up text. Nothing to ask whether Tharn had seen the message or to demand a reply. Only silence.

The night crept on. Tharn’s stomach knotted itself tighter and tighter until he couldn’t separate the symptoms of his anxiety from his exhaustion. He felt a bit like vomiting and there was definitely someone tiny hammering on the inside of his skull.

An acid taste coated the inside of his mouth. Tharn checked his phone again.

_If you ever considered me a friend._

5:51, the clock read.

Panic. Sick.

Fighting the urge to jump up, Tharn moved as carefully and quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Type. He got out of bed, went to the bathroom, toweled off the sweat he’d accumulated tossing and turning all night, got dressed, and was leaving the apartment by 5:59. He hesitated before the doorway, staring back at where Type rested so peacefully. He was beautiful like that.

Melancholy threatened to drown Tharn in its undertow as his mind drifted to thoughts of Type’s reaction should he…

No. He wouldn’t find out. And Tharn was doing this for himself. Not for Type, or Tar, or Lhong. Or anyone else. For him. He needed this.

With a soft click, he slipped out the door.

He reached the park at 6:14. The voice in his head that had dared hope he might find the park empty—Lhong never intending to come at all, or perhaps giving up when Tharn didn’t show by six—was immediately silenced. Even in the darkness, he recognized Lhong’s lanky silhouette from half a block away. He was sitting on a swing in the playground attached to the park. Head hung low. Toes burrowed into the mulch, pushing himself back and forth with the slightest of motions. Every aspect of his body language read _defeat_. Heart crawling up his throat, Tharn approached.

Mulch crunched beneath his shoes. Lhong’s head snapped up.

Tharn was close enough now that he could make out Lhong’s expression in the light given off by a street lamp. His expression was one of relief, relief so intense that it had weight and texture, humming in the air between them like the strummed chord of a guitar. And more, too. His expression was also one of ecstasy. Like an acolyte looking upon their god.

Fuck. How had Tharn never known how Lhong felt about him? Either Lhong was the world’s best actor or Tharn was a shitty friend.

 _No_ , he reminded himself with all the force Type would use. _I wasn’t the shitty friend. He was. This is on him_.

“You came,” said Lhong. Those emotions Tharn had already identified on his face were in his voice too, and Tharn fought against the bile that threatened to spew up. “I didn’t think… I mean… I didn’t know if you would actually—”

“What do you want?”

Lhong winced. He dropped his head back down, staring at the grooves his feet had dug into the mulch. The chains jingled as he twisted them in his hands.

“I just wanted to talk, Ai’Tharn.”

“There’s nothing I want to talk to you about. So goodbye, then.”

He turned to go. There was a loud jingle and two heavy treads on the ground behind him. Tharn froze, his whole body tense with terror at the expectation of a forthcoming touch.

He couldn’t quite name the terror. Was he afraid of being attacked? That didn’t feel right. Despite all Lhong had done, despite the depths of pain he’d caused, somehow Tharn knew Lhong would never attack him. He knew this not from any belief of goodness on Lhong’s part—he simply knew. Whatever else he was, Lhong was clearly sick. Something had gone wrong in him, and though it had made him monstrous, Tharn understood instinctively that whatever kind of monster he was wasn’t the kind that would assault Tharn.

Perhaps, then, he was afraid of _doing_ the attacking? Losing his temper and taking a brick to Lhong’s temple as he’d nearly witnessed Lhong do to Type?

Maybe.

Was he afraid of being tainted? That Lhong’s mere touch might be enough to condemn his soul?

If it hadn’t already.

Or was there another fear, a _worse_ fear? Was his terror based in something far more horrible than any of those possibilities? Could it be that there was a part of him, just a piece, that feared the feelings that surged up in response to Lhong’s touch would be, not violent, not disgusted, but their opposite? That he might be overwhelmed by his grief for the friend he was missing, the friend he’d never really had, the friend he still ached for? Not at night, when he held Type’s body close to keep his own warm. But during the days, whenever he went to class, or held a guitar, or realized how quiet his existence had become without the bubbly Lhong by his side.

He shuddered. This was a mistake. He should never have come.

“No!”

The voice jolted him back to reality. To his shock, he realized that it came from several feet behind him. Lhong hadn’t run to grab him, as he’d thought he would. He was… maintaining his distance? It was this alone that made Tharn keep listening.

“No, Ai’Tharn! That- that isn’t true. You _came_ here. You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t… if you didn’t… Please.”

Lhong’s voice hitched on the last word, and Tharn knew he wasn’t the only one on the verge of tears. Teeth clenched, he forced himself to regain control of his body. He couldn’t let Lhong see this side of him. If he did, the bastard would only take advantage of it and hurt Tharn even worse. He waited until he was sure that there was no sign of emotion on his face then turned around.

Pain speared through his gut. Even down in the dumps, Lhong was undeniably handsome. Tharn had always preferred Lhong in his casual clothes to their school uniform. The man had style, and Tharn felt that the world was brightened whenever he was able to show it off.

Except now there was no brightness exuding from Lhong. His characteristically fashionable attire seemed muted, a black turtleneck atop faded gray jeans. He wasn’t even wearing his earring. Whether this was a true reflection of his mood or done for Tharn’s benefit, he didn’t know. He no longer trusted anything to do with Lhong.

But it was more than that. His eyes, normally alight with wit and merriment, were droopy and dull. His infectious smile was gone, along with his sunny disposition. He was now the human embodiment of a rain cloud. Or a kicked dog.

Which made it all the more ironic when Lhong, the weight of his gaze so heavy it almost suffocated him, looked at Tharn and said, “Shit, you look like the dead.”

At that Tharn laughed. A loud bark of a laugh that denoted no amusement whatsoever. Classic Lhong, blunt as usual. _What did you expect?_ he wanted to ask. He looked away, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes snapped back to Lhong’s. “For what?”

Lhong glanced to the side, hesitating, searching out the right answer. Anger burned in Tharn’s chest.

“For… being the one to make you look that way.” He looked back at Tharn, seeking approval. _Did I get it right?_

Disgust curled Tharn’s lip. Fucking sociopath. It was almost funny how, _now_ , when it no longer mattered, Tharn could read Lhong like an open book. Why _was_ that? Was Lhong just unable to replace his mask after it being so thoroughly shattered by Type? Or were the cracks always there and Tharn simply never noticed? How many hints had he missed over the years? How many looks and words that would have pieced together a story? So many tragedies that could have been averted if Tharn had paid better attention.

An unpleasant feeling curdled in his stomach. Redirecting his anger where it belonged, he shook his head.

“You can’t be sorry for that unless you’re sorry for what you’ve done. Which you aren’t. Even now, it’s all about me, isn’t it?”

Lhong’s brow furrowed. He looked down at the ground as he mentally composed his reply. After six beats of Tharn’s heart—they were slow and steady beats, but loud, pounding against the inside of his ribcage—his chin raised back up in a graceful movement. His forehead was still creased, but he looked more stable now, more certain of himself.

Tharn didn’t like that at all.

“Is that so wrong?” Lhong asked. Suddenly lightheaded, Tharn wobbled on weak knees. “Is it wrong that everything I do, I want to do for you?”

“ _IT WASN’T FOR ME_!” Tharn shouted.

His hands turned into fists at his side, clenched so hard that his whole body shook. He took an aggressive step towards Lhong. The other man didn’t budge. Was he honestly not scared of what Tharn might do to him? Because he _should_ be.

But no. Tharn could see it in his eyes. It wasn’t a lack of fear, it was… a lack of awareness. Lhong was so laser-focused on Tharn, on the words he was speaking, struggling to grasp the meaning behind them, that he didn’t even register the threat of imminent danger. Tharn was simultaneously repulsed by Lhong’s inability to understand—he really was a sociopath, wasn’t he?—and touched by how sincerely Lhong seemed to want to learn.

Tharn stepped two paces to the side. Bent in half at the waist, he dry-heaved. His body wanted so badly to be sick, but his stomach had nothing to give. He heaved again, spitting a bit, but mostly feeling it as a painful spasm through his chest.

“Tharn!” cried Lhong. “Are you alright?”

Shoes shuffled through the mulch behind him. Tharn threw up a hand in the universal motion for _stop_. The sound ceased, but Lhong was much closer when he said, “Please. Let me help.”

Tharn wiped his mouth with a sleeve. He stood upright, throwing a look more tired than angry over his shoulder. “I don’t want your help.”

Lhong bit down on his tongue—Tharn knew because he’d seen his friend make the same face a thousand times—and looked off to the side. It was a face that meant _frustrated_ , _hurt_ , _wistful_. Wishing an outcome were different than what it was. Not understanding why things were the way they were. Tharn had seen it most often when they disagreed about band-related decisions, the pouty bastard.

A smile twitched into being. He hid his face quickly.

“I just want to help you,” came Lhong’s sad plea. “You hate me so much?”

 _Yes!_ Tharn wanted to scream. It was the truth. He hated Lhong with a passion he’d never known he possessed. Never before had he hated someone. Not even the countless homophobes he’d encountered in his life, Type included. Lhong was the first to awaken that feeling in him, and he didn’t know which of them he hated more for it, Lhong or himself.

But ‘yes’ wasn’t the whole truth either. And Tharn hated himself for _that_ even _more_.

Sucking in a lungful of cool air, Tharn gave himself a moment to find his equilibrium. The world was bathed in a soft pastel blue, promising the rise of a sun that Tharn had yet to see. A light breeze stirred his hair. The swings jangled softly and something wooden creaked. Everything smelled fresh. Like spring. He closed his eyes and breathed it in.

“Why did you ask me here, Lhong?” He kept his eyes on the horizon, waiting for that first touch of orange as the sun crested the distant hills. There was a pause. Then,

“I dropped out of school.”

“I know.”

“Are you… happy?”

Tharn didn’t know whether Lhong meant 'happy that Lhong had dropped out' or happy in a more general day-to-day context. Whichever question he intended, Tharn wasn’t interested in sharing the answer. He let the silence build.

“Why?” asked Lhong, his voice strangled.

Tharn spun around. His old friend looked much as he had the night of his unmasking, minus the blood. Tears in his eyes, lip trembling. A broken man. Tharn’s heart beat faster and he took a step back.

“Why, Ai’Tharn?”

“Why what?” he managed to ask.

Lhong reached out a wavering hand. “Why do you hate me? I’m your best friend. I’m your best friend, Ai’Tharn, and you said… you said you’d always want me. Why don’t you want me anymore?”

A wave of disbelief fell over Tharn. He was so stunned that he almost—almost—couldn’t feel the burn of his rage anymore.

“How...” He choked, but pushed the words out. “...could you ask me that?”

“I was the one!” shouted Lhong. Tears streamed from his eyes and his long arms gestured wildly. “I was always there for you, through everything! I was better to you than all of them combined. I supported you, I comforted you, I… I loved you when _no_ one else did, when- when your _boyfriend_ was still calling people like you… _things_ … and making you stare moodily out a window.”

Tharn flushed. For some reason he was embarrassed that Lhong had pieced that together.

“ _Why_ _was it him_?” Lhong cried, pounding his chest. “Why wasn’t it ever _me_?!”

In truth, Tharn had never considered Lhong an option. He’d always thought Lhong was straight and, evidence of Type aside, he never went after straight boys. Normally he put up mental blocks to keep himself from even considering them that way. No feelings allowed. Made things easier for everyone. With Type… well. Type had been a special case. His particular brand of asshole-ery had left Tharn with little concern for his feelings and sensibilities. So the blocks were never put into place and the rest was history.

But Lhong… His straight best friend Lhong. Tharn had put those blocks in place four years ago. During the past week, however, Tharn had been forced to consider what might have happened had Lhong ever disabused him of the “straight” notion. Or confessed, even. What would Tharn have done? Felt?

He couldn’t say, now. He knew too much. He could never form a romantic attachment at this point. But the idea frightened him, the _what if?_ Because Lhong was attractive and sweet and fun and, he’d thought, the best friend Tharn had ever had. If he hadn’t known what he knew now… what horrible situation might he have gotten himself into? Betrayal from a best friend was cruel enough. Had Lhong been his boyfriend and Tharn learned the things he knew now…

There would have been no surviving it.

On the other hand, had he been Lhong’s boyfriend, none of this would have ever come to pass.

 _Not this, but something else would have_ , scolded Type’s voice in his head. _That kid is sick. You couldn’t have changed him,_ _or_ _saved him._

 _You’re right,_ _I know,_ he answered, breathing again. _I couldn’t have saved t_ _hem._

Tharn had no intention of sharing these thoughts with the other boy. Keeping his expression blank, he said, “Because it wasn’t. And obviously I was right.”

A flurry of emotions cycled through Lhong’s half-crazed expression—shock, hurt, anger. He settled on denial. With a smile that was thoroughly unsettling and nothing at all like how Tharn knew him to be, Lhong shook his head.

“Only because you don’t understand. They twisted everything around, got you thinking that things are one way, but they’re not. If you… if you just listen to me you’ll understand. You’ll see.”

 _I won’t_ , thought Tharn. But he knew that answer wouldn’t satisfy Lhong, would only feed into his delusions and allow him to continue fantasizing a reality that didn’t exist. The only thing to do was…

“So tell me. Make me see.”

For the first time all morning, probably all _week,_ Lhong broke into a real, honest smile. His eyes lit up. The now-risen sun lit him even brighter, casting an angelic glow over him.

Tharn’s heart squeezed. He fought with every fiber of his being against the tender emotions it brought to the surface. This was exactly how Lhong had kept him fooled for so long.

“Come on.” Lhong’s head gestured over his shoulder, towards the park. “Let’s walk together and I’ll explain everything.”

Though he didn’t love Lhong bossing him around, Tharn saw the sense in his suggestion. Dawn had come, and with it soon would be people, strangers, wandering in and out of their drama. They were too conspicuous just standing here at the edge of a playground. At least walking would give them an occupation.

He gave a brisk nod.

Lhong started to turn with exaggerated slowness, eyes glued to Tharn, smiling, waiting for his friend to catch up. When it became clear that Tharn wasn’t going to follow until the other boy had a decent head start, Lhong deflated. He turned away. Eyes on the narrow lines of his back, Tharn walked behind Lhong at a good six-foot distance.

They met on the path. Without speaking, Lhong stuck his hands in his pockets and set off. Tharn kept pace with him as far away as the path would allow, which admittedly wasn’t far.

“It wasn’t about hurting them.”

Around them, leaves rustled in the morning breeze, making a soft _shh shh._ Birds began to chirp as they woke to meet the new day. The world smelled green and gentle. Beneath them, the dirt path felt solid but not hard, cushioning Tharn’s feet.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

“You didn’t _care_ about hurting them,” corrected Tharn. “Didn’t care if you did, didn’t care if you didn’t. As long as you got what you wanted.”

“You’re wrong!”

Tharn glanced to the side. “I’m wrong?” he echoed with a hint of scorn.

Lhong met his gaze head on, unintimidated. “You think I was getting what I wanted? To see you broken down and crying, another worthless loser, another heartbreak? You think that didn’t kill me every time? I just wanted you to be _happy_ , to find the _right_ one, who would never break your heart—”

“So long as that ‘one’ was you. Right?”

Lhong gritted his teeth and glared at the trees to the side of the path. There was a hefty pause. Then,

“I just wanted to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“That they weren’t good enough for you. That they didn’t love you.”

“That wasn’t your business to meddle in,” Tharn snapped. A frustrated breath huffed from between his lips. They were going in circles, rehashing the same arguments from six nights ago. He broke pace with Lhong, moving back the way they’d come. “This is pointless. I’m going home.”

“Tar cheated on you!”

Tharn stopped in his tracks. Anger was too timid a word for the feeling that rose up in him now. He felt like there was a hive of bees buzzing frantically inside his chest. His limbs vibrated.

“Why don’t you care? Why am _I_ the bad guy—”

In two seconds Tharn had his hands fisted in Lhong’s turtleneck. Shoving him backwards, he slammed the slender man against the trunk of a tree. Lhong winced, grabbing Tharn’s wrists.

“You _raped_ him!”

“I didn’t—”

“It may not have been you in that room.” Tharn didn’t yell. He didn’t even glare. All he did was let coldness radiate from him like a winter frost, one that would kill any flowers that dared to bloom. This, he saw, was enough, and Lhong stared at him with sorrow etched into every delicate line of his face. “But you raped him.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Ai’Tharn,” Lhong insisted. “They lied to you, about everything. I have proof.” One hand released Tharn’s and he fumbled for his front pants pocket. “I can show you the video—”

“I don’t want to see it!”

Tharn slapped Lhong’s hand away before he could pull out the phone. Somehow, Lhong still looked surprised to receive this treatment from his former friend. Did he honestly think he could just say anything and Tharn would roll over and play along?

“I never want to see it.”

Again the tongue bite and faraway gaze as Lhong took a moment to calm himself. A tic that Tharn had once considered cute now made shivers go down his spine.

“But it will show you...” said Lhong, his eyes meeting Tharn’s with openness and sincerity. “...that what I’m saying is true. Tar wasn’t raped. He wanted it. He _enjoyed_ fucking those men. He only needed to loosen up a little for it to happen.”

Tharn dropped his head down, breathing in and out to keep himself from dry-heaving again. His body sagged. Only his hands retained their tension and strength, refusing to let Lhong go free. “How can you even say that?” he mumbled.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Tharn. You can see it for yourself in the video, anyone can. He gets hard. And he cums. More than once.”

Another wave of weakness washed over Tharn. Knowing what had been done to Tar was bad enough. He didn’t want to think about it, and he _loathed_ hearing about it. The images in his mind didn’t need any more clarity.

“So?”

“So…? It’s like I told you.”

Tharn’s brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about? He was drunk. Of _course_ his body responded. That doesn’t…” He shook his head. The tiny someone from before was back, enthusiastically hammering at his skull again. There was a high-pitched tone in his ears that made it hard to focus.

“Huh?”

Through sheer force of willpower, in a feat no less miraculous than Atlas lifting the world onto his shoulders, Tharn dragged his head back up. There was genuine confusion on the other boy’s face.

All Tharn’s emotions seemed to have fled. Pushed out by exhaustion and sickness. Autopilot took over, leading him to answer Lhong’s question mechanically.

“Tar was drunk. He wasn’t conscious of what was happening. He didn’t want anything. Those men, they violated him, they raped him. And you are responsible for that. You raped him, Lhong.”

He squinted. It occurred to him that the sun was fully up now; there was no part of Lhong that he couldn’t see in high definition. The day promised to be sunny and warm. Tharn didn’t like it. This conversation wasn’t one for daylight or springtime. This was the stuff of howling winds and shadows and dark, foggy nights. Any minute now someone would come upon them and Tharn didn’t know what he would do then. Couldn’t this be over? Why wasn’t it over?

He was so tired.

Eyes unfocused, Tharn’s fingers loosened. They slipped from Lhong’s turtleneck.

“But he was hard—”

“Stop _saying_ that!” Tharn growled. He dug both of his hands into his hair, holding his head up. It was so heavy. “That doesn’t _matter_.”

“How could you say it doesn’t matter? _He didn’t love you_. I protected you from his lies!”

Again the disbelief, so strong that it gave him a second wind. He turned narrowed eyes on Lhong. “What the fuck are you talking about, Lhong?” he demanded. “Those two things have nothing to do with each other.”

“He just wanted a man to fuck him!” exclaimed Lhong. “Any man! He picked you after just… seeing you onstage. He didn’t know you like I did. He didn’t know you at _all_. It didn’t have to be you—that night proved it. If he hadn’t wanted them, he wouldn’t have gotten hard. Nothing would have happened.”

“Of fucking course he got hard, he’s a boy!” Tharn shouted. “That’s how it works!”

Lhong’s head jerked backwards, nearly smacking the tree. His eyes were round circles. “No it’s… it… huh?”

“ _What_?”

“You only get hard when you want it.”

This insanity was stated with the same calm certainty that Tharn would use to say ‘the sun is hot.’ “The fuck are you on about, Lhong?”

“I’ve only ever gotten hard for you.”

Tharn blinked. “You… what?”

“I’ve never been with anyone. No man, no woman. How could I? I love you, Tharn, I always have. Don’t you get that yet?”

“I… I mean yes, but… that doesn’t mean—”

“And I don’t care that you have!” Lhong’s eyes shone. His renewed smile transformed a rain cloud back into a breathtakingly beautiful young man. Tharn had the uncomfortable feeling that Lhong hadn’t heard a word he said. He was lost off somewhere. In thoughts of Tharn, presumably, and his deluded belief that a love could still exist between them. “I know that you’ve loved others, but that’s just one of the things I like about you. Your compassion. You can’t _help_ falling in love. I don’t mind that I’m not your only. Because I still know I’m one of the people that you’ve loved.”

“No...” Tharn looked deep into Lhong’s eyes, praying for the man to hear him, to really hear and understand him. “You aren’t. Not in that way.”

But Lhong was still smiling, still shaking his head. “Your friends aren’t here now, Ai’Tharn. You don’t need to lie. I’ve seen it.”

“Seen what?”

“Your love for me.”

“What does that even mean? Speak clearly, damn it!”

“Remember those sleepovers we used to have in high school?”

Tharn ducked his head in a _So?_ gesture at the seeming non-sequitur. “And?”

“There were times, many times, when you...” Lhong’s gaze traveled meaningfully over Tharn’s body. Still he wore that too-soft, knowing smile. “...got hard. Because of me. That’s how I know.”

Tharn was dumbstruck. “Lhong, are you… are you talking about...” He couldn’t quite speak the words. What would Type think if he could see Tharn now, his notorious flirt of a boyfriend, too embarrassed to say ‘morning wood’? He’d never hear the end of it. Scoffing, he went on. “You’re not serious, are you? Those don’t mean anything. Please, _tell_ me you know they don’t mean anything.” When the other boy said nothing, Tharn felt a panicky desperation take hold. “Don’t you… Haven’t you ever…? It just _happens_ , Lhong. To everyone. Not for any reason. Not because of you. Why would you think…?”

With each word, Lhong’s smile sank lower and lower until his bottom lip dropped down, leaving his mouth agape. Tharn’s heart beat like a terrible drum.

“That’s not true.” The words a whisper. True horror on Lhong’s face. Tharn couldn’t help but feel a jab of sympathy.

Neck muscles taut, Lhong pushed himself off the tree, but Tharn shoved him back and held him in place. This time, unlike before, Lhong pushed against him, though not seriously enough that Tharn really considered it struggling.

“That’s not true, Ai’Tharn. That’s not true!”

“It is.” Tharn spoke as calmly as possible, like he would to an upset child. Lhong’s dark eyes were wild, and Tharn felt that he and Lhong were perched together atop a precipice, likely to fall at any moment. “I’m sorry if you thought differently. It’s… so common. All boys experience it. Are you really saying you never…?”

Lhong blanched, flinching as though Tharn had struck him. “ _All_ … boys?” His eyes slipped from Tharn’s. They took on a sickly haze. His knees folded like wet paper and he collapsed to the ground, head smacking the tree with a painful-sounding _thunk_. _“_ It’s true, then. I _am_ a freak. A monster.” He wrapped skinny arms around his torso. Tucked into the shadow of the tree, hidden from the sun, he began to shiver. “I was born wrong, wasn’t I? Sick. That’s why… That’s why they never...”

Guilt took a knife to Tharn’s intestines. For all the ways that Lhong was _wrong_ , Tharn had never intended to make him feel that he was wrong for simply being who he was, that he’d been _born_ wrong. That hit all too close to home. _No_ one deserved to feel that way.

And besides, Tharn didn’t believe it. No one was _born_ wrong. Right and wrong existed in the choices that you made.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He crouched in front of the other boy. Lhong didn’t look at him.

“Lhong.” He almost grabbed the other boy’s shoulders. But somehow that felt too… friendly. Instead he seized hold of his chin and jerked it upward so Lhong had no choice but to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with being different. But you have to understand. How you experience… that… isn’t how others do. It’s something we can’t help, something that… comes from physical stimulus or sometimes from nothing at all. It doesn’t mean that we want someone or even some _thing_. It’s not like that.”

“But… why would...” _Why would it work that way?_

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t…” Words falling to a mumble, Lhong stared past Tharn’s shoulders with hollow eyes. His whole body went boneless. Like his soul had been carved out, leaving only an empty vessel behind.

“Do you understand now? Do you understand what you’ve done?”

This seemed to break through Lhong’s stunned shell. Harsh tremors overtook him, far more severe than before. “No. No, I don’t understand!” He shook his head violently. With each movement Tharn heard his head scrape against the bark of the tree in a way that _had_ to hurt, but Lhong didn’t seem to register the pain.

“Son of a _bitch…_ ” Tharn muttered. He thrust a hand behind Lhong’s head, pulling it away from the tree and holding it steady before he could do serious damage.

At just that moment, Tharn heard steps on the path behind them. He spun to look over his shoulder. An old man walking his dog stared back at him, frowning, looking irritated by their very presence.

Without hesitation, Tharn broke into his best business smile. “Good morning, sir.” With the hand cradling Lhong’s head, he pulled his friend closer to his chest, hiding his face from the man so he couldn’t see what an absolute wreck Lhong looked. The other hand he raised in a friendly wave, nodding first to the man then to the dog. “Good morning.”

The man harrumphed. There could be no doubt that he didn’t trust these two young men, holding each other in the park in the early hours of the morning. Nevertheless he walked on by, tugging the dog’s leash when it tried to trot over to them. Tharn waited a few seconds longer before releasing Lhong.

Lhong gave no indication that he’d noticed any of this. He didn’t even look at Tharn. Still shaking, he stared feverishly into the distance. “I _don’t_ understand. Tar… It’s…” His jaw clenched, eyes hardened. “He tried to take Tharn from me! And he wouldn’t go away like the others.” He let out a whine. “I had to do something. I had to _do_ something, didn’t I? I _had_ to.”

 _And if I had to do it, it can’t be wrong_ , Tharn heard in the unspoken words. From his crouched position, he settled down onto his knees and sat back on his thighs.

“Why? Why did you have to?”

“Because. I needed him.”

“Why?”

“Tharn was the only one who ever wanted me.” Lhong pulled his knees up and hugged them to his chest. “No one ever liked me. No one noticed me. I lived in darkness all my life. All I wanted was to end. Then Tharn…” At this he smiled, brightening ever so slightly. A peek of sun through the storm clouds. “Tharn brought me out of the darkness.” Lhong lifted one shoulder in a shrug, his smile trembling. “I just wanted to stay in his light. I had to. I couldn’t go back to the dark, I couldn’t.”

A vise squeezed around Tharn’s heart. He swallowed, looking down at the ground. “But you see, Lhong, don’t you? The price you paid for staying out of the darkness?”

He placed a gentle hand on Lhong’s cheek. Lhong took a sharp, startled breath and his eyes flashed back to Tharn’s. He looked back and forth between them, seeming to drink in the sight of him, like he’d forgotten Tharn was there and was seeing him now again for the first time.

“You stuck me in that darkness instead,” said Tharn. “Me, Tharn, who you say you love. You stole my light and left me in the dark, alone.”

Lhong’s eyes widened into discs. He shook his head. “No, no…”

“That isn’t love, it’s greed. Selfishness. Dropping out of the music school was the only selfless act you ever did for me.”

“I couldn’t let you…” His fingers grasped helplessly at Tharn’s white shirt but seemed to find no purchase. “Ai’Tharn…”

“But that’s why… I still believe you can be better, Ai’Lhong.”

Slowly, Tharn smiled. His thumb brushed against Lhong’s cheek. His old friend grew still, staring up at him in shock.

“In the end you did something for me, not for yourself. By giving me back my music, you showed you truly loved me. And it doesn’t make up for what you did. It can never make up for what you did. But it’s a start. Let it be a start for you.” Looking at the gorgeous, green world around them, Tharn made a sweeping gesture off to the side. “Go somewhere new. Meet new people. Leave all this behind, but don’t ever forget. Don’t… _hurt_ anyone anymore. Prove that my best friend truly exists. The man who loves singing and the guitar. Who… looks out for his friends and always has a shoulder to cry on. Who brightens every room he’s in and only wants to help. Be that man. Can you?”

Lhong’s lips trembled. “That man is alone. No one wants to be with that man.”

“I did.” Tharn smiled sadly, brushing back the floppy hairs that had fallen too far into Lhong’s face. “I always wanted him. Maybe not in the way you wanted, but maybe it could have been. We’ll never know. But I told you the truth that day four years ago. I always wanted Lhong. My best friend. And I miss him even now. I wish I didn’t have to.”

Lhong sprang upright. “You don’t have to. I could—”

“I don’t know that friend anymore. He’s gone from me.”

Hope dead, Lhong sank down again, grief filling his eyes with fresh tears.

“But there are others who will want him too,” Tharn told him. He gripped Lhong by the shoulders. “You don’t need tricks or schemes. You don’t need cruelty. Just give your heart to them and they will love you.”

Tears began to tumble down his cheeks. Lhong shook his head, his shoulders heaving. “They won’t. I’m worthless. I’m sick, I’m twisted, I’m—”

Tharn couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Sympathy erupted from the well of his compassion with the force of a volcano, flooding each and every limb, filling him to the brim. Crying, he reached out and pulled his former best friend into a hug. Lhong sobbed, his arms immediately going around Tharn in return, gripping the back of his shirt. They stayed that way for a long moment. Tharn rocked Lhong in his arms. One hand cupped the back of Lhong’s head, brushing through his hair.

“You’re not worthless, Ai’Lhong,” he said, punctuating the statement with a shake to Lhong’s lithe frame. “No one is worthless.”

“But I—”

“Do better. That’s all.”

“I don’t want their love. Ai’Tharn!”

He pulled his head up from Tharn’s shoulder, placing his hands on either side of Tharn’s neck. Their faces were only inches away now and Tharn couldn’t imagine how this must look to others. They were blessed that the park was currently empty around them.

“I love _you_. I only love—”

“You can’t have mine. I’m sorry.”

“Ai’Tharn…”

Placing his hands tenderly on both of Lhong’s cheeks, Tharn leaned forward and kissed the other man’s forehead. His whole body trembled. This was hard, so much harder than he’d thought it would be. Lhong was quiet.

Clearing his throat, Tharn drew back. “Take care, Lhong. I’ll…” _miss you_. He stood up, leaving Lhong on the ground. “...not see you again. Please. If you love me you’ll leave me alone from now on.” Without waiting for a reply, not _wanting_ a reply, Tharn turned to go.

“Wait!”

Tharn flinched. Damn it. He heard Lhong scramble to his feet behind him.

“I… I don’t know if I can ever become the man you want me to be. But I’ll try.”

Looking hesitantly over his shoulder, Tharn faced his friend one last time. When he did, Lhong smiled at him. Tharn’s heart raced. This smile wasn’t smug or confident or triumphant. It wasn’t cruel or deluded. It was sad, it was happy, and it was brave.

“And I…” _love you._ Lhong’s eyes flicked down. Back up. His smile grew even softer. “...won’t ever text you again. You have my word.”

Tharn fought the urge to bite his lip or cry or take a deep breath, anything that would show Lhong just how much his words had affected Tharn. So instead he returned Lhong’s smile. His sad, happy, brave smile.

“See?” he said. “You’ve already done your second selfless act.”

*

This time when Tharn turned and walked away, it was for real. Lhong was left behind, alone, as he’d always been.

But this time he didn’t mind it the way he always had in the past. Of course he was sad, and grieving. Lonely, afraid, hurt. But he was also hopeful. Because now he understood in ways he never had before and because Tharn… perfect, beloved Tharn… thought that things could change for him. He wasn’t leaving Lhong to rot in the darkness—he was giving Lhong the ladder he needed to climb out of the darkness and into the light.

“I do love you, Ai’Tharn,” he said, long after Tharn was out of earshot. When only a glimpse of him could still be seen, exiting the park. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

He meant every word. In the four years they’d spent together, Tharn had given him everything he needed to make it happen. Even on this last day, he’d learned so much from Tharn. Not just about sex, but about goodness. Through Tharn’s words and his actions, Lhong had finally been able to see the world through his eyes.

Somehow he’d thought that caring about Tharn, about _only_ Tharn, was compassion. The world had seemed to him a series of mechanical parts, circling around Tharn and himself, like they were the only real people. But compassion, that part of Tharn that Lhong loved more than anything, wasn’t to be reserved for just one person or two. Everyone mattered. All of them. He’d blinded himself to his own true nature by convincing himself that other people weren’t… _really_ people. That their hurts didn’t matter so long as he protected the one person who meant the most.

How could he not have known that, to Tharn, injuring another was the same as being injured himself?

Well, he did now. He saw. And he understood—understood _too_ much, in fact. What he knew now threatened to overwhelm him, send him screaming into the ocean.

But he wouldn’t. That wasn’t what Tharn had asked of him. Tharn’s final wish for him hadn’t been retribution but redemption. Because even for someone so vile, so wrong, so evil as Lhong… Tharn had compassion.

Voices came from behind him. Lhong whipped around. Two pretty girls about his age walked down the path towards him, arm in arm. Lhong gave a sheepish smile and nodded as they passed.

“Hi there,” he said.

The girls giggled. They returned his greeting, their eyes a little wide as they took him in. One glanced back over her shoulder at him with a mixture of amusement and approval. The girls bent their heads together and kept walking, no doubt whispering about him.

Lhong pursed his lips, but he honestly didn’t care. Knowing he looked a mess, he wiped a hand down the front of his shirt in an attempt to clean it. He’d gotten dirty somehow. Then he reached up to his head and frowned. There were twigs in his hair. How were there twigs in his hair? He started to brush them out.

With a half-hearted chuckle, Lhong dropped his hands and smiled. He didn’t really give a damn. Let them stay there.

His thoughts slid back to Tharn and his smile faded. He missed his friend already.

 _And you always will_ , his brain reminded him. He scowled, shoving the thought aside. That wasn’t helpful. Right now he needed to focus. He had a mission. This was the only thing he could do for Tharn anymore so he would do it, no matter how hard it proved to be.

Besides, when it came down to it, compassion was just a skill like any other. It would be like learning a new song. Well… maybe a new instrument. But he’d spent four years with the best teacher he could think of. Lhong would model himself on Tharn and practice and practice until he became more like him.

A good man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story was not written to excuse or justify Lhong's actions. However, I found the actor, and his portrayal of the character, very compelling and I wanted to dig a little into him. I was particularly interested in the dynamic between Lhong and Tharn, wondering how Lhong's betrayal would affect Tharn going forward. Love is complicated, even platonic love, and I don't believe it can be turned off by a switch in one day. I wanted to see how Tharn, a character I see as very loving and loyal, would deal with his conflicted feelings towards Lhong after the disturbing revelations of the finale.
> 
> Also, the Lhong in this story is simply one interpretation. One could easily write him off as crazy or a sociopath, also valid interpretations, but I saw him differently and wanted to write him in a way that reconciled some of the more head-scratching statements he made onscreen. A way that allowed him more nuance and potential for growth. Feel free to let me know what you thought.


	2. A Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument about Lhong unearths problems that cause Type and Tharn to question both themselves and their relationship. Only sound advice from a good friend is able to save the day.

When Tharn arrived home there was no Type to be seen, but he could hear the shower going. Smiling, Tharn set down the breakfast he’d picked up for them and shucked off his clothes, heading into the bathroom. He passed the steamy mirror and climbed inside the shower to join his boyfriend.

“Mm, where were you this morning?” asked Type. It was clear from his lazy tone and smile that he wasn’t yet fully awake. Tharn’s eyes crinkled with delight. Sleepy Type was almost unbearably cute. “I missed waking up with you.”

“Well then,” said Tharn. His eyes raked up and down Type’s body. “Let me make it up to you.”

Leaning in, Tharn met Type in a languorous kiss. Even though it was nothing new, he swelled with pride at the way Type responded to his kiss, smiling into it and looping his arms around Tharn’s neck. They’d come so far. There could be no better cure for the morning he’d had than this, feeling the evidence of Type’s love.

Tharn detached himself from Type’s lips and kissed a trail down his neck. With one hand he caged Type in against the slippery wall, while the other explored the curves of Type’s lower back. Lip caught between his own teeth, Type clutched at Tharn, fingers digging through his hair and into the meat of his upper arm. Tharn applied more pressure, sucking until Type hissed. Then he moved downward, planting kiss after kiss on Type’s chest, his stomach, then even lower, where he kneaded Type’s bottom as he worked.

When Tharn finished, Type returned the favor. This was something that Tharn had never asked of him, content to wait as long as Type wanted, content to go without it _forever_ if that’s what he needed. But Type, though hesitant at first, had recently insisted that he wanted to do it, and so they had.

Tharn barely enjoyed that first time, too afraid that the experience would be triggering for Type. It wasn’t. After making Tharn cum that way, gazing up at him from the floor as he spasmed through his first orgasm induced by Type’s mouth, Type had risen from the ground with eyes full of rapture and attacked Tharn’s lips with a fervor he’d never shown before. Even remembering it now increased the rate of Tharn’s blood flow and he moaned, feeling himself near completion.

Not long after, they rinsed one another off and got out of the shower. Tharn headed out of the bathroom first, a towel wrapped around his waist, leaving Type to brush his teeth and hair. He was putting his clothes back on when Type called, “So why _were_ you gone this morning?”

Nausea crept back into Tharn’s stomach. He didn’t want to hide things from Type, but he also really didn’t want to discuss this. Even more than that, however, he did _not_ want to lie to Type, seeing how well that had gone the last time. His only hope was for Type to let it go and not pursue the matter.

“Uhhh…” Tharn shrugged on his white button-up shirt. “I got us some breakfast.”

He heard Type spit into the sink. Then the faucet squeaked off and Type joined him in the main room of the apartment, where he went towards the dresser to pick out his own clothes for the day.

“Is that all?” he asked offhandedly, grabbing a pair of football shorts. “You didn’t need to. We’ve got plenty in the fridge.”

“Actually I… picked it up on the way back.”

“Back from what?”

Fuck. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. Well, he could. He could give yet another half-truth—

_The park._

_Why were you at the park?_

_I went for a walk._

_At six in the fucking morning?_

_It’s beautiful out at that hour._

—and another and another, piling them up, each one getting closer to the truth without ever reaching it, always another dodge, always another feint. Nothing false. Just small truths that all amounted to nothing.

But that wasn’t being honest and he knew it.

For a brief, serene moment, Tharn stared at the plains of Type’s back, the shifting muscles as he opened and closed drawers in search of a suitable shirt. Tenderness pulsed inside his chest like a ball of light. He cherished these quiet moments between them more than anything. The passion and excitement were amazing too, but these moments were the best.

And he might never have one again.

“Seeing Lhong,” he said.

Type froze. Pulling his hand back from the dresser, he turned around. Tharn did his best to stand tall and firm, though Type’s disbelieving gaze made that difficult.

“What did you just say?”

Tharn swallowed. “I met with Lhong.”

Anger twisted Type’s features. He stomped closer and fisted a hand in Tharn’s shirt. Tharn did his best to stay limp and relaxed, knowing from experience that it was better to play it cool than to add fuel to his boyfriend’s tempers.

“Do you wanna fucking die? After everything I did to protect you from him, you’re still friends with that piece of shit bastard?”

“Ai’Type.” He kept his breathing steady, looking Type in the eye. “It isn’t like that.”

“Yeah?” Type gave him a shake. “What’s it like then? I don’t see any scrapes on your hands, so you didn’t go to beat the hell out of him like I asked you to.”

“We’re not friends. I told him that I’ll never see him again.”

“So why go today, huh?”

“He asked to meet one last time. How could I deny him? What if it were Techno, what would _you_ have done?”

Type glared, his nose scrunched as though he’d smelled something vile. “Techno would never be like _him_.”

“Ai’Type,” Tharn whined. Why couldn’t Type ever see things from Tharn’s perspective? Why did he always have to assume the worst? “That isn’t the point. Just imagine. Lhong was my best friend for so long, I owed him that much. And I honestly think that he can be better if someone gives him the chance to—”

Tharn didn’t see the fist before his head snapped to the side, left cheek stinging. Tears sprang to his eyes. But it was anger, not sadness, that began to fill him up like helium into a balloon ready to pop.

Type was no less angry. He didn’t grab Tharn by the shirtfront again, but there was so much strain in his muscles that Tharn could see his veins standing out against his skin.

“Did you forget what he did to me? What he _tried_ to do? Or what he did to Tar?”

“Of course I didn’t forget!” snapped Tharn. How could he, when the evidence of Lhong’s assault was still there on Type’s face, bruises and cuts that felt like a whiplash every time Tharn looked at them?

Almost as if he hadn’t heard Tharn, Type shook his head, his eyes full of rage and… hurt. Tharn looked down, intestines twisting into a knot.

“Asshole. You don’t respect me at all.”

Tharn’s head jerked up.

“Or Tar. You don’t give a shit. Or you wouldn’t have gone to see him.”

Unclenching his fists, Type turned and headed for the dresser. He began to root around in its drawers, tossing shirts and pants onto the bed. A wildfire roared in Tharn’s ears.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, Type grabbed a bag and began to shove his clothes into it.

“Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Tharn tore the bag from Type’s grasp and grabbed him by the arm. Type glared at him. “You made a promise. You can’t just _leave_ , we need to _talk_ about this.”

“Talk?” Type echoed loudly. “You didn’t seem to want to talk about it _before_ going behind my back. It’s always the same, Tharn. You do whatever the hell you want then blame it all on me.”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew how you’d be!” Tharn met Type glare for glare. “It wasn’t your decision to make. We’re partners. But you would never have listened to me or what I wanted. You can’t just order me around and expect me to do everything you want, and then _hit_ me if I don’t.”

“Is that right?” challenged Type.

“Uh, that’s right,” Tharn confirmed with a nod. No longer was he the submissive Tharn, willing to cower and placate in order to make his wife feel better, at the expense of his own feelings. Enough was enough. “You can’t keep treating me this way, Type. I’ve never hit you, have I? And I never would.”

Type went stiff as a board. Then he sneered, a glint in his eye. “No, of course you wouldn’t,” he said. "That would be too straightforward. People like you and Lhong prefer to play mind games, don’t you?”

Shocked, Tharn felt a chill travel down his spine. “Wha…?”

“Why tell someone outright what you think when you can screw with their head instead, and then wait until they’re drunk or vulnerable to _fully_ screw them? That’s why you still sympathize with Lhong. Because you think just like him.”

“But I didn’t...” Tharn fell silent. His fingers slipped from Type’s arm.

“ _I didn’t rape you_ " wasn’t the right thing to say. If you needed to make a distinction between molestation and full penetration, you were already past the point of okay. “ _You started it_ ” was no better. Type had no more deserved Tharn’s harassment than Tharn had deserved Type’s, even if Type _had_ started the war between them. Two wrongs did not make a right. Even considering the thought that Type had been ‘asking’ for it in some way… now that he loved Type, now that he knew Type’s history… it made him sick.

Finally he realized that there was nothing he could say. Because Type was right.

He was right.

Images of a dark night flashed through Tharn’s mind. An unconscious figure in his bed. His fingers undoing buttons. Kisses. Kisses that had tasted so good—for Tharn. Kisses that tasted of revenge and something sweeter he didn’t yet want to name. Sucking bruises into pale skin.

Shaking, Tharn covered his face with his hands, so that he could see nothing and nothing could see him. His eyes remained open, staring into the black of his palms.

In the end he was just like Lhong: just as prone to cruelty, just as deluded of his own innocence. He couldn’t even claim Lhong’s excuse. He had known precisely how Type felt about him, and exactly what he did _not_ want. Tharn had done it anyways. Convinced that he knew better, convinced that he was justified not only by Type’s behavior but by the desire he’d spotted more than once in Type’s eyes. As though his own interpretations of someone else’s desire constituted consent.

_What have I done?_

“I’m sorry, Ai’Type.” His voice was clogged with tears. He hadn’t noticed that he was crying. “Ai’Type, I’m so sorry.”

There was silence from his boyfriend. If Tharn could still call him that. Unable to look at Type through his shame, Tharn stumbled away and blundered past him, only then uncovering his eyes. He sprinted from their apartment, leaving the nuclear fallout of their relationship behind him and running far, far away.

*

 _Shhh thunk_. The ball came to a rest at Type’s feet. He kicked it back, calculating the angle and speed by muscle memory alone.

 _Shhh thunk_. The repetitive sound of a ball rolling through grass before making contact with a pair of cleats was so familiar to him that it was just white noise.

 _Shhh thunk_. It was a beautiful day out. Bright yellow sun. Clear blue skies. Even the grass seemed greener, imbued with the cheery spirit of spring. The perfect day to kick a football around with your best friend.

But Type’s thoughts were elsewhere. Specifically, back at home in a now empty apartment.

_Shhh…_

Type frowned. Looking around, he saw that he’d let the ball sail past him in his distracted state.

“Oi, Type!” Techno called from half a dozen yards away.

Type threw up a hand. “Sorry! I got it.” He ran to get the ball and then brought it back, where he came to a halt as Techno jogged over to meet him halfway.

“Ai’Type,” he said, “what’s up with you today? You seem really out of it.”

Embarrassed, Type shot a glance around the football field, at the rest of their teammates running drills and other exercises. He scratched his head. “Sorry. I’ll, uh… get it together.”

Techno huffed, planting his hands on his hips. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m worried about you. I can’t think of the last thing that upset you this much that wasn’t a fight with Tharn, and there’s no way you two are fighting again.”

Both too honest and too proud, Type could neither lie to his friend nor willingly admit what had happened. He refused to look Techno in the eye. There was a hefty pause, the silence of their conversation broken only by the breeze and the sound of footballers nearby.

“Right?” said Techno finally, though the deadpan tone of his voice meant he had already resigned himself to the truth. “You two couldn’t have had another fight, could you? Not after everything that just happened. That would just be crazy. Surely that’s not what’s got you in a sour mood.”

Type crossed his arms and stared off into the distance.

“Oiiiiii.” With a much put-upon sigh, Techno shook his head. “Can’t you two get along even for a week without the help of your overworked fairy godmother?”

“And who’s our fairy godmother?” asked Type, making a face. “You?”

Techno beamed and nodded, looking far too pleased with himself. Type rolled his eyes.

“So…” Techno slipped an arm around Type’s shoulders. A bit of pent-up tension relaxed from Type’s muscles. “What did you do this time?”

With a _tsk_ , Type glared at his friend. “Why do you assume it’s _my_ fault, huh?”

“Oh?” said Techno, laughing. “And when isn’t it? Tharn’s too good—he never makes any trouble with you. Whereas you could make good money as a professional troublemaker.”

On instinct, Type’s hand came up to smack Techno upside the head.

It never made contact. He hesitated at the last moment, fingers flinching backwards, and this gave Techno the time to duck away with a laugh. Beaming, Techno pointed at him and said, “Ah ha, see! You can’t get me anymore. I’m too fast. It’s exactly for reasons like that that I should be team captain.”

But Type wasn’t laughing. He was staring at his hand, a hand that loved nothing so much as to play with his boyfriend’s hair and stroke his warm, bare skin, but that was as quick to deliver a slap as a caress. Did Techno mind? Had he always hated it and never said? Or was it different than it was with Tharn?

“Maybe it _was_ my fault,” he said. His gut tightened like a crank being wound. “I’ve never been a good boyfriend, Ai’No. Maybe I had it coming.”

“Huh?”

“All I’ve ever done is hurt the people who care about me. You, Ai’Khom, Ai’Tharn.” Type kicked at a chunk of grass to release the tension coiling inside of him. “Every fucking time. I’m a shit friend and an even shittier boyfriend.”

“Ai’Type!” Techno grabbed him by the arms, planting himself in front of Type before his foot could mount another attack on the football field. “Stop. What do you mean you had it coming? Did Tharn hurt you? Because if he did—”

The absolute trust in Techno’s words, that he would take Type on faith if he accused Tharn of anything, and further, that he would take Type’s side without question despite his professed adoration of the handsome drummer, made Type so emotionally wrecked that he had to interrupt. Feelings of gratitude and worthlessness battered at opposite sides of his psyche, and he knew that he would snap in half if he dwelled too long in them.

“If he did then maybe we’d be even,” he cut in.

Though in his head, he knew it wasn’t true. They weren’t even.

Type’s sins far outweighed Tharn’s.

Yes, Tharn had hurt him. Today, by going to see Lhong without telling him. And many months ago, by touching him while he slept, even sometimes while he was awake. Type recalled vividly the way Tharn had cornered him more than once, trapping him, touching him, and the genuine terror he’d experienced at the time, even as something buried deep clamored for more of that touch.

Type should have hated him for it. Except that each time it happened, Tharn was oddly gentle, and he always stopped once he realized the severity of Type’s distress. The only exception was… that night. But every occasion he’d stepped over the line seemed balanced by some great act of kindness: comforting Type from a nightmare, tending to him while he was sick. So instead of hating Tharn, Type had started to… like him. And over time Type came to blame _himself_ for Tharn’s actions during those early days, knowing that he was the one to provoke Tharn in the first place.

That was why he’d forgiven Tharn. Doing so wasn’t even a conscious decision. It had never occurred to him to stay angry at Tharn, perhaps because a large part of him had expected worse as soon as he heard the words “Your roommate is gay,” and he was simply grateful to have gotten off easy. So Type honestly hadn’t known he was carrying around this baggage until Tharn told him off for hitting him, and Type felt so ashamed that his shame turned to anger. He became defensive, needing to prove that he wasn’t the only bad guy.

The words that then spilled from his lips surprised Type almost as much as they surprised Tharn.

At first he was still too angry to regret what he’d said. Surprised though he was, Type felt securely in the right—he would, after all, prefer a simple punch to the face over all the secrets and manipulations. He was angry that, as usual, no one understood his side of things.

But the hours since Tharn fled the apartment had lessened his feelings of righteousness and allowed doubt to creep in. Bitterness and guilt battled within him, as he alternated between feeling justified in his accusation and feeling like all he’d done was add an unjustified emotional punch to the unjustified physical one.

Because whatever else was true, Tharn had been right. Type _did_ hit Tharn at times when he became so angry that he wasn’t able to think anymore. And it was wrong.

There was no excuse. No one was perfect, and even if Type disliked the way Tharn communicated—or _didn’t_ communicate—sometimes, he couldn’t resolve the conflict through violence. After all, Type wasn’t perfect either. But since becoming boyfriends Tharn had never threatened or harmed Type, the way that Type continued to threaten and harm him. Tharn always tried to talk it out.

Whatever Tharn’s sins, they belonged to the past, to a time when they’d been enemies and _both_ had acted in unforgivable ways. Somehow, miraculously, they’d forgiven each other anyways. But Type was the only one who had continued his unforgivable actions in the present, in their relationship. Proving that Type was worse than Tharn and they were not remotely even, no matter _who_ Tharn had snuck off to see that morning. How could Tharn even love someone like Type?

Suddenly curious, Type narrowed his eyes at Techno.

“Why did you stick with me?” he asked.

“Uhhh.” Techno jerked a thumb towards their teammates. “Because practice is still going? I can go pass with someone else if you want.”

“No, I mean…” Type rubbed at his forehead. “Why did you stick with me all these years? Through the… gay bashing and the bad attitude and everything else. Why put up with it?”

“Oh. Well.” Techno’s lips pursed in a frown. “You’re my friend. That’s what friends do.”

“But _why_? Who would want to be friends with me? Especially someone like you; you’re the nicest guy I know. I’m sure you could do better.”

Mouth agape, Techno blinked rapidly at him for several seconds. Then he fixed Type with a serious stare, dropping both hands onto his shoulders.

“Ai’Type… Listen to me. Very closely.”

Type waited, bravely meeting Techno’s gaze. Accepting criticism wasn’t one of his strong suits, and it took all his willpower to face this issue head-on and hear whatever Techno had to say, even though all he wanted to do was run away and hide in a bush somewhere.

“You may be handsome, but you’re a real idiot.”

Techno darted away from Type’s half-hearted lunge, letting out a laugh. Type crossed his arms and glared.

“Not helpful, No.”

“I’m serious!” Techno insisted. He kept smiling, still enjoying his little joke, but Type could see his sincerity regardless. “I don’t know what happened with Tharn, but you’re not a bad friend. You think anyone else would put up with me the way you do?”

Type frowned. “I don’t ‘put up’ with you—”

Techno’s laugh cut him off. His eyes were bright with affection. “I knoooow,” he said. “Because you like me how I am. Even when you pretend to be mad at me, it wouldn’t occur to you to wish I were different, or that anyone else was either. However they are is cool by you. Gay thing aside. That’s why I stuck with you through all that, because I know that’s not how you really are. I’ve never had another friend who I trusted so much with every part of myself.”

An invisible hand squeezed Type’s heart. Words eluded him. He’d never questioned his friendship with Techno before, taking it as a given, and so had never known Techno felt that way. Seeing things through his eyes was startling. It pained Type to think of the implication behind his words, that there were others—maybe _many_ others?—who didn’t like Techno. Who thought he was weird or possibly annoying. How could anyone think that about one of the sweetest, funniest guys Type had ever known? They should _be_ so lucky as to be friends with—

“Besides, it’s too much fun kicking your ass at videogames every weekend.”

“Jerk,” Type spat back with a smile. “You mean getting _your_ ass kicked.”

At that Techno hit him in the shin with the football. Still grinning, Type returned the attack, and on and on it went until they’d settled back into an easy passing pattern.

After a minute, Type stopped the ball under his foot. His mind, though much calmer thanks to Techno, still churned beneath the surface, and he knew there was something he’d left unsaid.

“Ai’No…”

Techno’s head tilted at him, his expression attentive and nonjudgmental. Another rush of gratitude swept through Type.

“Thank you. A lot. For giving me a second chance. Well… more chances than that, really.”

Techno smiled. “No problem. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

The ball passed from Type back to Techno and they resumed practicing. But Type didn’t ignore his friend’s last words of wisdom. He spent the remainder of their practice thinking on it, while he passed balls, while he scored goals, while he ran laps. Techno was right, he thought. Everyone deserved a second chance.

And it was time he started acting like it.

*

Tharn watched his mother and little sister leave, a smile gracing his lips. Thanya was precious. They had been playing piano together when their mother showed up to take Thanya off to a friend’s house. Even though the playdate had been arranged weeks before, Thanya still pouted on her way out, complaining that she hadn’t known Tharn would be home and she wanted to stay with him, especially given that he’d spent most of the day asleep in his bedroom.

But social responsibility won out and she was forced to go. Tharn was left sitting alone on the piano bench.

After he heard the front door close, Tharn felt his smile fade away. He faced the piano again. Melancholy settled into his bones, weighing him down like lead, making his limbs heavy and lethargic. He managed to raise a hand to the keyboard, but couldn’t summon the strength to make his fingers do anything other than lay there. Like they’d forgotten how to make music. More out of stubbornness than anything else, Tharn plunked out a few notes. No rhythm, no tune. Just the satisfaction of applying pressure to keys and getting sound in response.

“I like you better on the drums.”

The voice drifted to Tharn’s ears as if out of a dream. He blinked. His head rotated slowly to the left.

Standing in the doorway was Type, decked out in full footballing attire, still sweaty from a morning no doubt spent on the field. Tharn’s brow creased.

“How did you…”

“I got here as your mother and sister were leaving. They let me in.”

“Ah.” Tharn nodded. He faced forward again. In his current state of mind he felt totally vacant, unable to process what was happening or how he should react.

“I’m sorry.”

Tharn jolted upright. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t such a sudden, blunt declaration. Much more alert, he looked at Type again. “What?”

Type came closer but stopped a foot away from the piano, as if unsure whether his presence was permitted beyond that point. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I hit you and I’m sorry for the things that I said—”

The bench clattered as Tharn jumped to his feet. He strode several feet away, his back to Type, hands clenched into fists.

“Why are you apologizing to me, Type?” he demanded. His body was shaking. “How can you say that when I’m the one who should be begging for your forgiveness?

“ _Why_ should you be?” asked Type, some characteristic bite back in his voice.

Hesitantly, Tharn turned around. There was a severe look on Type’s face, but Tharn didn’t think it was aimed at him. Rather, he looked the way he had when he scolded Tharn for being a hero and trying to take responsibility for Lhong’s crimes.

“Haven’t you already apologized? Why should you beg for forgiveness when I’ve already forgiven you?”

Sometimes Type’s bluntness was like being struck with a sledgehammer. The emotions he provoked weren’t always bad; indeed, sometimes they were quite good.

But no matter what, they always hit hard. Type forgave him? Just like that? Tharn choked down a sudden rush of tears. In some ways it felt like he’d done nothing _but_ cry lately and he was tired of it. By God he was going to hold it together now, and not give Type any reason to pity him.

“You shouldn’t,” he said. “I don’t deserve it—”

“And who said that’s your decision to make?” asked Type. “It’s not. It’s mine. I don’t deserve your forgiveness either, but I’m here asking for it anyways.”

Tharn shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“Uh, it’s not,” Type agreed. “You already apologized, as soon as you realized you’d done something wrong. I wasn’t good enough to do that so I’m here _now_ , hoping you’ll still accept my late apology.”

“Stop it, Type!” snapped Tharn.

Frustration rose in him, causing his pulse to race. There was simply no comparison between a few hotheaded moments of lashing out versus a cold and calculated plan to assault someone, an assault that could trigger said someone's greatest trauma, and for which the perpetrator felt no remorse until the incident was shoved in his face many moons later.

Type was being intentionally dense, acting like these two things were comparable, and Tharn wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He had known people who became trapped in love. Who allowed their partners to misuse and abuse them, forever ignoring bad behaviors for the sake of not losing their loved one. In fact, he was ashamed now to admit that he’d feared becoming one such person himself, until Type showed him the truth. That Tharn wasn’t the one in that position—Type was. And Tharn wasn’t going to let Type do it. He wouldn’t let Type explain away and justify Tharn’s actions, allowing himself to be mistreated for the sake of maintaining their relationship.

He loved Type too much.

“What you said this morning, you were right,” he said. “I did those things to you and I didn’t even think…” The sentence fell away as he tried to order his thoughts. “I didn’t… _care._ Just like him.”

“Ai’Tharn.” Type’s features softened. He looked at Tharn with so much sympathy and affection that Tharn barely resisted the urge to run straight into his arms. “This morning I was angry, and I took it out on you, and you were right to tell me off. But instead of admitting it, I lashed out and hurt you in the worst way I could think of. You are _not_ like Lhong. I should never have said that. Please forgive me.”

“How can I forgive you when you were right?” Tharn unconsciously took a step back, as if to distance Type from the threat that Tharn posed to him. Sadness flickered across Type’s brow. An echo of his pain stabbed Tharn in the chest and he tried to harden his heart to the other boy, standing taller. “I think you should leave.”

Type shook his head vehemently. “Not until I know that you forgive me.”

“I already told you, I can’t—”

“I _need_ your forgiveness, Ai’Tharn. For every time that I hit you, for every time that I cursed you.”

Tharn sucked in a startled breath.

“For every hurt that I caused you. Please.” Gone was Type’s control and confidence. His countenance now twisted to reveal a flurry of emotions: fear, regret, guilt, desperation. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I promise, if you give me one more chance, I’ll never do those things again. From now on I’ll treat you _right_.”

Eyes wide, Tharn stared at his boyfriend, not knowing what to say or do. What he _wanted_ to do was take Type’s face in his hands and kiss him until those bad feelings were a distant memory. But even the thought of kissing Type was enough to freeze him where he stood, anxiety locking his muscles in place.

Type’s eyes flicked back and forth between his. When Tharn failed to produce a response, desperation turned to loss and he seemed to become smaller, shrinking in on himself.

“That’s fine. I understand. I know that I… crossed the line too many times. Just know that… I’m truly sorry, Ai’Tharn. You deserve to be with someone that treats you well from the start. I’ll go now.”

His socked feet padded against the floor as he turned to leave. Only when he was passing through the doorframe did Tharn snap out of it.

“I forgive you!”

Type stopped. He looked at Tharn over his shoulder with hopeful eyes. One side of Tharn’s mouth lifted in a smile.

“Ai’Type,” he said sweetly. The mere sound of his name from Tharn’s lips was enough to bring color to Type's cheeks, and it set Tharn’s heart ablaze. “I understand why you did it. Of course I forgive you.” His smile twitched back into a frown. “But that doesn’t mean that _you_ should—”

Before Tharn knew what was happening, Type had crossed the room and was standing right in front of him. He took Tharn’s hands in his own. Tharn’s heart thumped.

“You are _not like_ him.”

Tharn tried to shift away, but Type held on tight.

“What happened between you and me is not even close to what Lhong did to Tar. Trust me. I know. And Lhong hurt innocents. I was never an innocent and we both know it.”

Tharn protested, “That’s not—”

“I’m not saying what you did was right,” said Type, his voice quiet. Tharn couldn’t have broken his gaze even if he wanted to; he’d been enchanted by those eyes. “But I’ve done a lot of things that aren’t right too, and much more recently. If you forgive me, why can’t I forgive you?”

It helped, what Type said, it really did. Tharn’s heart cried out for him to accept the other boy and move forward as though none of this had ever happened. But his chest still felt tight, as though something were constricting his airways, and he knew he couldn’t do it.

“But Type… How can you ever trust me not to… to…” He flinched.

Sighing, Type lowered Tharn’s hands and released them. They seemed to have reached a stalemate, a point of contention that not even Type could fix with his big heart and clever words. Something broke inside of Tharn, flooding him with sadness. He squeezed his eyes shut.

There came the sound of wood scraping against wood. Confused, Tharn opened his eyes to find Type seated at the piano. His eyebrows shot up.

“You play?” he asked.

Scoffing, Type shot him a playful look. “Better than _you_ anyways,” he teased. Intrigued despite himself, Tharn walked up and stood behind Type’s shoulder to watch. Type took in a long, deep breath, placing his fingers carefully above the black and white keys.

Then began the most halting rendition of “Chopsticks” that Tharn had ever heard. He burst into laughter.

“Better than me, huh?” he said, grinning.“You little brat.”

“At least it has a melody,” Type shot back, the song’s rhythm faltering yet again as he tried unsuccessfully to hide a smirk. “Unlike whatever _you_ were playing.”

“All right, scoot over.”

Type allowed himself to be nudged to the side as Tharn sat on the bench beside him.

“Here, relax your fingers.” Tharn placed his hands on top of Type’s, guiding them back to the proper keys. “Don’t think so hard. You’re treating your hands as separate parts—they’re not. They work together.”

They started the song over, Tharn’s fingers pressing down on Type’s so that Type played the right notes at the right time.

“Gently,” he instructed when Type began to push the keys too hard. Type relaxed again, letting his hands mold to the shape of Tharn’s, allowing himself to really feel the music rather than attack it. Together they played the short beginner’s tune passably well, and Tharn turned to Type with a smile.

A pair of lips pressed against his. Tharn froze, eyes wide open. Before he could think how to react, Type pulled away and said, “I trust you because I know, with every piece of myself, that you would never hurt me. And I promise that from now on I’ll never hurt you either. Okay?”

Tharn felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. After a long moment, he nodded.

Type’s answering smile lit up his whole face, the sight of which brought forth a smile on Tharn’s face as well. The weight in his bones had lifted, leaving him light and airy. There was a tentative, happy fluttering in his breast.

In a way, everything that had just transpired felt unreal to him, disbelief lingering like a fog in his brain. But he knew that it _was_ real, and that Type forgave him, and that they were okay.

They were okay.

Releasing a full body sigh, Tharn rested his head against Type’s shoulder. This. This felt right. He nuzzled into the crook of Type’s neck. Type chuckled and began to run his fingers through Tharn’s hair. Tharn resisted the urge to purr.

Then an unhappy thought occurred to him and he grew tense.

“Should we… talk about this morning?” he murmured, loathe to break the tenderness of the moment. There was a stretch of silence as Type continued to pet him. It carried on long enough that Tharn suspected Type was trying to ignore him and thus avoid the subject. Discomfort tangled up his insides, but he steeled himself to speak again, knowing they couldn’t let this issue go unresolved. It might be unpleasant, but it would at least serve as a test of their promise to treat one another more kindly.

Just as he started to open his mouth, Type beat him to it.

“I don’t like that you went to see him,” he said.

Tharn cringed. Already their brief respite was over. Sitting up straight, he glanced fearfully at the boy next to him. To his—mild—relief, Type looked serious but not angry. Type continued.

“It hurts knowing that you could be friendly with someone who did the things he did. It feels like being punched in the face all over again.”

Mouth dry, Tharn swallowed as he tried to conjure up an explanation that would mollify his boyfriend. To mollify _himself_ , at this point—he felt himself swaying more towards Type’s side with each passing second.

“But I don’t blame you for going.”

Tharn stilled. He raised his eyes to meet Type’s, unsure if he’d heard right. The calm expression on Type’s face confirmed that he had. But there was something else, some other emotion that Tharn couldn’t read, veiled behind Type’s protective walls. What…?

“I spent years,” said Type, “cursing gay people. I became a downright bully when you and I were put in the same room together. But through all of that, Techno never gave up on me. He stuck by me. And so did you, even though you had way less reason to.”

Tharn stayed silent, listening to his boyfriend with no small amount of confusion. Where had this come from? Why was he saying all of this now?

“So no, I don’t like you seeing Lhong. And _I_ don’t think he will ever get better. But he was _your_ friend, not mine, and everyone deserves a second chance. I was only able to get better because you gave me the time and compassion to do so. I can’t… reap the benefits of that and then scold you for doing the exact same thing for someone else.”

Now Tharn understood. Affection pierced his heart like a sword. He’d never known love could hurt this much, or that the pain could feel so good. Placing one hand on Type’s cheek and one over his own heart, Tharn looked directly into Type’s eyes.

“You aren’t like Lhong, Ai’Type.”

With a grateful smile, Type nodded. “Neither are you,” he said. “But maybe we can both learn from him.”

“Then… I promise never to sneak around behind your back again,” said Tharn.

“And I promise always to listen and consider your feelings too.”

A burst of happiness filled Tharn from head to toe. Sunshine enveloped his whole being. Grinning like a kid on Christmas, he wrapped his arms around Type’s waist, snuggling against his side. Type rolled his eyes and leaned away, but he couldn’t hide the smile pulling at his lips or the blush reddening his cheeks.

“Hey, Ai’Tharn,” he said a minute later.

“Mm?”

“I was wondering.”

Type hesitated. Knowing that he would finish the thought as soon as he was ready, Tharn chose not to worry about it. He squeezed Type’s middle affectionately, nuzzling against his shoulder.

After a brief pause, Type asked, “Why did you like me in the first place?”

“Hmm.” It wasn’t something Tharn had considered before, not as more than a vague, rhetorical question. He’d never been the type to delve too deeply into the reasons for his feelings. It was enough that he felt them. But Type had asked him a question and he wanted to give a true and thoughtful answer. He pondered for a moment, then said, “I found you cute.”

“ _Cute_?” was the disbelieving echo. Voice laden with sarcasm, Type said, “Would that be when I trashed our room out of spite? Or the time I stole your snacks when you left a note specifically telling me not to?”

Remembering the incident, a smug, if somewhat abashed, smile crept onto Tharn’s lips. “Actually, uh… that time, I wanted you to take the snacks.”

“Huh?”

“That’s why I wrote the note.”

At the continued crease in Type’s brow, Tharn sighed. He sat up, peering at Type from beneath the fringe of his bangs. “We’d already been sharing snacks for weeks and I noticed you weren’t eating enough. I figured… if I told you _not_ to eat them, well… then you’d be sure to.”

“Ai’Tharn!”

He couldn’t help a laugh at the outrage in Type’s voice.

“You bastard, you _tricked_ me.”

Tharn snuck his arms back around Type’s waist, gratified when he didn’t pull away. “Mm. Sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Arms crossed, Type glared down at him. “I _hate_ you.”

Tharn grinned. “It means you love me,” he said. Type’s lip twitched. He didn’t deny it. Humming, Tharn rested his chin on Type’s shoulder. “It was more than that, though.”

Curiosity replaced Type’s sulking expression. “What was?”

“You _were_ cute, the way you always tried to be mean and hard and never quite pulled it off. But I also liked you because… of the way you made me feel needed. Like there were parts of you that no one else knew about, walls you only let down with me. Even if it wasn’t… something you _meant_ to do, at first. I think I fell in love with you the very first time you called out for me during a nightmare.”

Type’s eyes grew round. “I did that?”

Tharn nodded. This revelation seemed to overwhelm Type and his eyes flicked to and fro. It was clear that he was piecing the events together in his mind. Type, in the midst of a nightmare, crying out for Tharn. Tharn answering the call and holding Type through the worst of it, helping to wake him, only to be rewarded with a sound punch to the face.

Rather than let him wallow in his guilt, Tharn craned his neck until Type had little choice but to meet his gaze. He stared up at his boyfriend with puppy dog eyes. “Soooo… what did you first like about _me_?”

With a small huff of a laugh, Type relaxed again. “Your kindness,” he answered without hesitation.

The quick and forthright reply brought an unexpected heat to Tharn’s face. Feeling unusually shy, he ducked his head.

Only for Type to place a hand on his cheek and raise it back up. Tharn’s heart pounded out a heavy drumbeat.

“No matter what I did,” Type said, “no matter how angry you got with me, the moment always passed quickly because you could never stop being kind. You were so good to me that even when I hated you, I liked you.”

Tharn wondered if his eyes were mirroring the same shine currently in Type’s. “And how do you feel about me _now_?”

Lithe fingers stroked his cheek. “Now… I don’t think I could live without you.”

“Let’s not try.”

“No,” Type agreed.

Sharing a heated glance, they moved forward at the same moment. Their lips mashed together. Tharn’s fingers dove into Type’s hair, holding the back of his head, while his other hand found Type’s hip and yanked him even closer. Type was only too happy to half-land in Tharn’s lap. His own hands were spread over Tharn’s back, and he kissed Tharn with a passion that bordered on feverish. Painfully turned on, Tharn ravaged his mouth in return. They traded kisses and touches, discovering a new ecstasy in the experience, brought on by their heightened understanding and respect for one another.

And if, a few minutes later, they were both horribly embarrassed when Thorn walked in on them kissing, their consternation only lasted until Thorn pivoted and exited the room as swiftly as possible, covering his eyes and shouting that he’d seen nothing. Then they burst into laughter and Type slipped an arm around Tharn’s back, holding him close and requesting that Tharn play him a song.

Tharn was happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I love Tharn and Type dearly, there were moments in the series where it became almost impossible to root for them because their actions were so out of line. Given that Lhong already paid his dues in this story, I wanted Tharn and Type to face the same self-examination, so that they can become better people going forward and eliminate some of the more toxic aspects of their relationship. Which is not to say I agree with every opinion expressed by Tharn and Type in this story. But I tried to imagine how they would feel in these circumstances, and what roads their minds might take them down. As before, I'd love to hear what everyone else thought, both of the referenced events from the show and of the way I chose to address them in this story.
> 
> There will be at least one more chapter! It will bring Lhong back into the story, and give focus to both him and our leading men. You can also expect a few more cameos from lovable side characters :) Thanks so much for reading, everyone! I hope you're all staying safe and healthy during this time.


	3. Three Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later, Lhong returns to Thailand.

_Three Years Later…_

It was a bad idea. For so many reasons. Lhong knew that.

So then why was he here anyways, at the bar where he and Tharn had played so many gigs together?

It was for pure nostalgia, he told himself. He wasn’t expecting to see Tharn here—in fact, he was very much hoping _not_ to. There was no way he could be so unlucky. Tharn and the band probably didn’t even play here anymore, and if they did, what were the odds they’d be playing the one night Lhong decided to visit?

No. It would be fine. Lhong just wanted to go and see the old familiar place again. Surely he deserved that after three years away.

Still, when Lhong entered the bar, it was with nerves on high alert. His run-in with Thorn a week earlier had left him on edge. Not because of Thorn—the conversation with him had actually been very nice. Unexpected. He hadn’t reached out to Thorn since that day, as he’d been given permission to do, but that was mostly because he couldn’t yet think about the chance meeting without crying.

He could barely forgive _himself_ for the things he’d done when he last lived in Thailand. Had spent three years battling depression and anxiety as he fought to stay on a better path. He’d succeeded pretty well at the latter if not the former, though his inner voice wasted no time in reminding him that managing to not harm anyone wasn’t something to take pride in. He wanted to do more. He wanted not to simply ‘not harm' others; he wanted to help them. To do good things and make the world a better place. But so far, ‘not harming anyone’ was all he’d been able to do. The rest of his energy was devoted to that never-ending war, the struggle not to harm himself. The fact that Thorn was able to forgive him when Lhong himself couldn’t? He couldn’t have been more grateful for such a gift.

So Thorn wasn’t the problem. No, the encounter had put him on edge because… who might he run into next? He didn’t want to see anyone else from his old life. Most of them he’d wronged too severely to ever even _ask_ for forgiveness, and as for Tharn…

Well, Tharn he _did_ want to see. Seeing Tharn was a desire that ached deep inside his heart, always, so much a part of him that it may as well have been etched into his ribs.

That desire, however, was overpowered by his desire for Tharn to be happy. And for that to be true, Tharn could never, _ever_ see Lhong again.

Moving slowly, Lhong opened the door and took his first steps into Ainu. A quick glance around the corner to his left showed an empty stage. Sighing with relief, Lhong let himself relax a little and made his way to the bar where he found a friendly face.

Jeed smiled the moment she saw him. In her smile was surprise, joy, and an obvious lack of knowledge regarding the reason he’d left Thailand three years ago. Lhong’s gut wrenched like a guitar string pulled too tight. Reaching over the counter, Jeed smacked him with her bar rag, grinning, and Lhong forced a smile even as he fought back the feeling that he’d somehow deceived her. By what? Sitting on a barstool? He tried to calm himself before his anxiety could take control. Why had he thought coming here was a good idea?

Oh that’s right. He’d _known_ it wasn’t. Better question was, why was he still such a goddamn idiot no matter how many years passed?

_Breathe, Lhong_ , he told himself. _Fucking hell. Just breathe_.

“You rascal!” said Jeed. “Three years, isn’t it?” She tugged on her husband’s shoulder, dragging his attention away from shelving liquor. “Hasn’t it been three years?”

“Oh, good to see you again,” Khong said, much calmer than his wife. “Where did you vanish to?”

Lhong cleared his throat. “Uh, Germany. I’ve been studying there.”

“What was wrong with studying here?”

With a _tsk,_ Jeed hit her husband with the rag. Lhong couldn’t help but snort at how much mileage the rag was getting as a weapon.

“Don’t ask a question like that. I’m sure he was offered a great opportunity in Germany that he just couldn’t pass up. No?”

“I, uh… moved to be with my sister.” Eager to get off the subject, Lhong raised a hand to indicate their surroundings. “This place sure hasn’t changed any.”

“Oh!” Jeed stood upright, looking as though she’d just realized something. “But you must have come tonight to see the band’s new vocalist?”

_THUMP,_ went Lhong’s heart. His eyes began to widen.

“You’re too late, I’m afraid. They finished their set about twenty minutes ago.”

Exhaling with relief, Lhong slumped down on his stool. Another false alarm like that and the adrenaline would—

“But at least you can go sit with them.”

Lhong’s heart stopped. A ringing filled his ears and he completely missed the next thing that she said. There was no way to miss the gesture that she made, however, and he whipped around to face the corner of the room where she’d pointed. It took him only a second to find them. There were half a dozen of them seated around a table together while another was walking away at just that moment. That was seven. Seven of them. A total of seven guys who could, and probably _would_ , beat his ass into the ground if they saw him. Shit, shit, shit. He couldn’t make out all their faces, but he definitely recognized Type, one of Type’s friends that had been part of the confrontation three years ago, and…

Tharn. Just as beautiful as the last time Lhong saw him. No, _more_ beautiful. He looked young and strong and carefree and happy. Happy, goddammit. His smile absolutely sparkled. The long-missed sight stole Lhong’s breath away and he grew still, his rush of adrenaline fading to a buzz in the background.

Lhong smiled, close to tears. He watched as Tharn threw back his head and laughed at something. If the rest of them laughed too, he didn’t notice, fixated solely on Tharn, Tharn, Tharn…

“If you want to order something, I can bring it right over to the table for you.”

What? Confused, Lhong turned back over his shoulder. Jeed was looking at him expectantly. Order? Oh. A drink, food. She thought Lhong was going to order a drink and then join…

Lhong scrambled off the stool, tripping over his own feet and knocking against it with a loud clatter. “I have to go,” he blurted. Jeed’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, P’Jeed. Please don’t… tell Tharn I was here. I have to…”

“Wait, but… Lhong!”

“I’m sorry!”

Heart pounding, Lhong sprinted for the exit.

*

Tharn felt as though he’d fallen headfirst into an icy pond. Surely that wasn’t… Surely that hadn’t been…

No doubt feeling Tharn’s body stiffen beside him, Type turned. “Ai’Tharn? What’s up?” Not yet concerned, only curious.

“Nothing,” Tharn answered automatically. It _was_ nothing. Because there was no way that it was what he’d thought it was. It was just a vision, a figment of nightmares or dreams creeping into his waking hours. He was seeing things, that’s all. Nothing Type needed to know. In fact, he’d rather Type _didn’t_ know that he was seeing his ex-best friend in places where he was not. Type would either get worried or angry or—knowing him—both. “I’m just gonna… get another drink.”

“Get me one too, will you?”

Tharn made a vague noise of agreement, already up and moving towards the bar. When he reached it, he was unsettled to find that the smile Jeed gave him looked strained.

“Refills?” she said, continuing to smile that fake smile as she grabbed two clean glasses and got ready to pour.

“Was that… Did I see…” Tharn struggled to push the words out, feeling crazy. It was the look shared between Ainu’s married owners that convinced him it was worth it to ask. “Was that Lhong running out of here a minute ago?”

Khong and Jeed shared another look. Sighing, Jeed met Tharn’s gaze uncomfortably. “He asked us not to say.”

That was answer enough. Without another word, Tharn raced towards the exit after the other man, to what end he did not know.

Banging through the glass door, Tharn prepared himself for a bit of a run to find and catch up with Lhong. So he was rather surprised to find him on the sidewalk not ten feet away, trading blows with another man while two others grappled nearby, one of whom Tharn was startled to see was his friend Klui, who had left the bar only minutes before.

“Hey!” he shouted. Without hesitation, he ran into the fray. Tharn grabbed Klui’s assailant by the shoulder and threw him off, punching the man across the face. The man collapsed. He touched his bruised cheek, eyes flashing up at Tharn with anger and confusion, before fear dominated his expression as he took in his new opponent.

“Oi, Pin!” The stranger hurried to his feet, shoes scuffing the pavement. “Come on, man, let’s go. Let’s go!”

There was a crash as Lhong fell against a wooden pillar, pushed by the man who now ran past Tharn, he and his friend abandoning the fight and scampering away down the street. Tharn forgot about them immediately. He wasn’t interested in fighting for the sake of fighting—it was his friend’s wellbeing that concerned him. He went immediately to Klui, unable yet to even think about much less deal with the other man present.

“P’, are you okay?” he asked.

Klui wobbled on his feet. Tharn placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. Given the arm clutched around his middle, Tharn would guess that Klui had taken a hit or two to the stomach, but there were no other injuries that he could see. Just a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

“Uh, uh,” said Klui, nodding. He looked tired but fierce. “My face is still intact. Those bastards didn’t manage to make me any less pretty with their fists. Ha!” This last was shouted in the direction the two men had disappeared. Tharn rolled his eyes at his friend’s priorities.

With a look of concern, Klui leveled his gaze past Tharn’s shoulder. “They sure got _you_ though. I’m sorry, bro. That’s… that’s a lot of…”

Before Tharn could work up the nerve to turn and see just what there was a lot of, Klui’s face went green. He stumbled two feet before throwing up in a potted plant.

“Shit, Klui!” Tharn rubbed a hand up and down his friend’s back. He could feel Klui’s body trembling, his shirt soaked through with sweat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Klui said, still bent over. “Just… give me a minute. Go help him out for me, would you? I’ll just… I just need to sit for a…” Klui sank to the ground, dropping his head between his knees. Still worried about his friend, Tharn nonetheless felt obliged to honor his request. And that meant…

Bracing himself, Tharn turned to face the man he hadn’t seen in three years.

Blood. That’s what Klui had been trying to say. There was a lot of blood on Lhong’s face.

Lhong seemed to have come out of the fight much worse off than Klui. Still slumped against the pillar he’d been thrown into, he breathed heavily. Blood covered his face, streaming from a broken nose. There also looked to be a small cut up near his left eyebrow and Tharn could tell that he’d have a swollen black eye the next day. Uncertainty made Tharn cautious, dampening his natural emotions, but even so, he could sense his sympathy struggling to break through like a flicker of light through the fog.

Rather than tend to his own injuries, Lhong seemed frozen in place. Tharn felt a twinge of disgust as a glob of blood dripped all the way down Lhong’s chin and plopped to the ground, Lhong seeming not to notice, his wide eyes locked on Tharn. Though, he wasn’t staring at Tharn with the ecstasy and adoration he once had. If anything he seemed… frightened.

Sure enough, when Tharn took a step closer, he flinched. Like a wounded animal. Tharn’s heart flinched in response. Did Lhong really believe that Tharn would kick him while he was down? Especially when all the evidence suggested that he had been fighting _with_ Tharn’s friend, not against him? That fact alone made him wonder what the hell could possibly have happened here.

But that wasn’t his first concern. Glad that he’d worn two layers that night, Tharn unbuttoned his outer shirt and stripped down to the white tank-top beneath.

“Can you stand up?” he asked.

Slowly, not breaking eye contact, Lhong pressed a hand against the pillar and leveraged himself upright. He watched Tharn approach. Pulse racing, Tharn came within a foot of the other man. Then, over a period of a few seconds that felt like years, Tharn reached out, his arm crossing the distance between them.

With gentle strokes, Tharn began to wipe the blood away with his shirt. Lhong still said nothing. His silent stare started to make Tharn uncomfortable and he shifted on his feet, looking away.

Lhong hissed in pain. Properly chagrined, Tharn focused his eyes back on his work. This wasn’t exactly something he could do blind. He continued to clean Lhong’s face, more carefully now.

_W_ _hat happened?_ Tharn wanted to ask. A different question emerged instead, quietly so that Klui wouldn’t overhear them.

“What are you doing here?”

“I… just wanted to visit. I didn’t know that you’d…” Lhong got quiet again.

“Were you looking for me?” asked Tharn, his voice hard as he voiced his deepest fear. His fear that after all these years, Lhong was still watching him, stalking him, unable to let him go free. Why else would he come here? And what else might he have planned?

Desperation shone from Lhong’s eyes and he shook his head. “I wasn’t. I swear! I… Please, Ai’Tharn, I didn’t know you were playing here tonight. Or ever! I only wanted to see the place again. That’s all. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have… Believe me, please.”

The strange thing was… Tharn _did_ believe him. The truth of it was there in Lhong’s eyes, not to mention the fact of his quick departure from the bar. If he’d truly been there for the purpose of stalking Tharn, surely he would have hung around, watching as long as he could, until he was noticed. It was only due to his hasty departure that Tharn had spotted him in the first place. If he’d wanted, Lhong could have skulked in Ainu incognito for much longer, Tharn felt sure of it. Then… Lhong was telling the truth?

And if he was? What then? What was the protocol now? Tharn felt lost, no idea how to move forward. So he simply continued to dab at the cuts on Lhong’s face. This, at least, was something he knew how to do.

“So what happened?” he asked.

Lhong shrugged, a gesture that was made with both shoulders and lips. Tharn was stunned by how such a small, casual action could overwhelm him with a heady dose of nostalgia. He sank his teeth into his tongue and bit down.

“When I came out, they were already fighting. Those two guys seemed to be ganging up on your friend over there, so I… I don’t know, I just… jumped in.”

There was a sound behind them and Tharn turned to see Klui approaching. His color looked much better and he even managed a smile, though he still walked with a noticeably affected gait.

“It’s lucky for me that you did,” said Klui. “Seriously, bro, thank you. From now on Klui will be your devoted servant! That’s me, by the way.” He laughed.

“Um… that’s really not necessary,” Lhong answered.

Having wiped away all the blood that he could sans water and a washcloth, Tharn balled up his shirt and pressed it against the still-bleeding cut on Lhong’s temple. Lhong winced, trying to duck away. He pouted when Tharn didn’t relent.

Tharn chuckled, allowing himself to smile at Lhong’s childish behavior without drowning himself in guilt. After all… that is… it had been three years, hadn’t it? And Lhong had done nothing wrong in this instance. In fact, he had done something very _right_. Surely that meant something. Maybe Lhong had changed his ways, and wasn’t it okay for Tharn to treat him with kindness accordingly? Beyond that his thoughts hadn’t extended very far yet. Nothing past the right here and right now.

“You big baby,” said Tharn. “Hold that there.”

Despite his pouting, Lhong obeyed Tharn without question, bringing his hand up to replace Tharn’s immediately. Their fingers brushed as the shirt passed from one to the other, and Tharn did his best to ignore the tingle of warmth that spread through him at the contact.

For the first time since they’d come face to face, Lhong’s lips pulled into the beginnings of a smile. “Thank—”

“What the hell is going on?”

Both Tharn and Lhong whirled towards the bar, where Type stood just outside the door. Tharn didn’t need to look to know that Lhong wasn’t smiling anymore. Anger blazed from every line of Type’s face. His hands were clenched into fists.

“Heh-hey!” said Klui, his voice in full-on mediator mode. Tharn knew that voice well. Klui stepped between Tharn and Lhong, putting his hands on both of their shoulders in an obvious effort to ease the tension. “There’s no need to worry, Type, it’s not what it looks like. Tharn was just helping me to help my savior, that’s all. Nothing more than that. Okay?”

“Your savior?”

Tharn wasn’t phased by his boyfriend’s anger; it was understandable for Type to feel that way. But it was only a gut reaction. As soon as he understood the situation, as soon as Tharn was able to explain, then Type would calm down. Ever since their near breakup three years ago, Type had been very good about keeping his promise to always listen to Tharn and consider his feelings. They’d successfully resolved each of their conflicts through communication ever since, and Tharn had no doubt in his mind that a rational conversation would save the day now as well.

So despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins from the initial fright of Type’s appearance, Tharn was feeling perfectly calm when he answered Type’s question. “It’s true. I saw it.”

“Did you? Saw… what, exactly?” Type crossed his arms, a hard, shuttered expression falling over his face like a mask. Tharn felt the first stab of unease. Type’s cold anger was much harder to navigate than his hot bursts of temper.

“Two men were attacking P’Klui. Lhong helped to fight them off until I got here.”

“Two men attacked Klui,” repeated Type, “Lhong helped him out of the _goodness_ of his heart, and then you showed up and… what? The guys ran off?”

“Mm,” Tharn confirmed. “They weren’t interested in a three on two fight.”

“I’m sure they weren’t.”

His unease grew, turning into annoyance that prickled under his skin like a cactus. “Ai’Type, what’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “Lhong was hurt helping our friend. Why are you angry at me for taking care of him?”

A flare of that cold, intelligent anger burned in Type’s eyes. He shook his head with a sardonic smile. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s behind it.”

Tharn blinked. “Huh?”

Type took a step closer, then another, until he was close enough that Tharn could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. He didn’t dare. There was no warmth there in Type’s gaze.

“Our friend happens to get beat up by two random guys the one night that Lhong comes to town? Then they split the second you show up? He _planned_ it, Ai’Tharn.”

An ice-cold dread washed over Tharn. His heart pounded in increasingly frantic beats.

“No doubt he paid those guys to do exactly what they did. Trying to make you feel sorry for him and think that he’s some… hero.”

Beside him Lhong lurched upright, his mouth snapping open. Tharn watched and waited and listened, nerves abuzz, not even sure what he hoped Lhong would offer up. A confession? A denial?

But Lhong said nothing. Whatever energy had put that feverish gleam in his eyes left him. His body sagged back against the pillar and his mouth fell shut, eyes taking on the blankness of a dead fish. Tharn shivered.

“See?” said Type, gesturing at the other man. “Even he knows better than to try and lie his way out this time. I guess you could call that improvement.”

“Er…” Klui poked his head forward. Though clearly aware now that there was more going on than he understood, he still kept up his placating smile. “Look, Type, man. I don’t think it’s all that. They weren’t some random guys, you know? I knew them at university, and this wasn’t the first time they’ve been dicks to me. And honestly, I mean… all that stuff you’re saying… it’s kinda crazy. I mean, who would—”

“I’m sorry, P’Klui,” Type interrupted. “But you have no idea what this person is capable of.” He looked back at Tharn. “But you do.”

Tharn’s eyes glazed over. His head dropped, bowed under the weight of Type’s accusation, under his shame. How could he have fallen for Lhong’s tricks _again_? Type was right, of _course_ he was right. It was so obvious, so clear.

“When are you going to stop being such an easy target for manipulation, Tharn?”

The words gutted him like a wild animal’s claws slashing through his innards. Tharn tried to breathe, unable even to lift his head and look his boyfriend in the eye.

“I’m going home,” Type said. “But hey, you should stick around, Lhong. I’m sure Ai’Tum would love to catch up.”

In his periphery Tharn saw Lhong stiffen violently, caught like a deer in the headlights. Unfortunately for Lhong, Tharn was too pissed to give a single damn about any of his fears at this moment.

Breathing deeply, Tharn forced himself to look up. He watched Type’s retreating figure, the man already half a block away.

“Ai’Type!” he shouted. Not angry, but pleading. “Ai’Type!”

His calls went ignored. Shame turned to hurt turned to rage, and Tharn turned on Lhong, fists shaking at his sides.

“I’m such an idiot,” he said. Lhong didn’t meet his gaze, apparently paralyzed by the unraveling of his plan. “Are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted?” Stepping forward, he twisted his fingers into Lhong’s striped button-up shirt, pulling him forward until their faces were only inches apart. Now Lhong did look at him, but his eyes told Tharn nothing. “Stay away from me and stay away from my friends. Or else.”

He released Lhong abruptly. He didn’t push, but Lhong fell back against the wooden pillar regardless, as though he lacked the strength to stand on his own. A sense of discomfort and an innate desire to help reared up in Tharn at seeing someone look so… broken.

Jaw clenched, he turned away and chased down the sidewalk after the man he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...
> 
> Please comment to let me know what you think!


	4. In His Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lhong struggles with the pain. Tharn seeks Type's forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains references to self-harm and thoughts of suicide. It also contains a homophobic slur.

“Happy now…”

The words were little more than a murmur. Lhong was barely conscious of saying them; his mind had become an echo chamber of white noise. He was barely conscious of anything. Even his vision was hazy, the world around him a blur.

A sound from somewhere outside himself pushed against the barrier of his mind but failed to get through.

“Happy…”

Someone grabbed him and Lhong’s heart lurched into a gallop, his fight-or-flight reflex kicking in. The shot of adrenaline spread from his heart, through his limbs, and into his head, clearing his vision enough to see what was before him.

It was the other man, Klui. Tharn’s friend.

Tharn…

His gaze slipped downward, eyes glazed over once more.

Klui squeezed his arm and woke Lhong again. With effort, Lhong forced himself to focus.

“Hey, uh… Listen, are you okay?”

Lhong scoffed. Okay? Was he _okay_? The cut on his forehead stung like a bitch, his nose throbbed with a definite break, his shoulder ached so badly that it was at least bruised if not dislocated, and the only person in the world whose opinion he valued had just trampled his heart into the ground.

“Why do you care?” he said. Shaking off Klui’s hand, Lhong finally stood upright, no longer using the pillar for support. Klui rose at the same time he did, like a mirror image. Lhong was gratified to find that he was taller than the other man. “Aren’t you pissed at me?”

“For what, saving my ass?”

Lhong narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You know why. For hiring those guys to do that to you.”

At this, Klui gave him a look. “Come on, bro.”

Lhong’s eyebrows rose in challenge.

“Look, I don’t know what Type’s deal is,” said Klui, raising his hands palm out, “but I’m not stupid, okay? No way you were some mastermind behind all this.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“Because I threw the first punch, for a start.”

That gave Lhong pause. He hadn’t really given any thought to what started the fight, but he’d assumed, naturally, that the other two had been the aggressors. It made no sense for one man to start a fight when he was outnumbered. So then…

“Why?” he asked. As his hostility faded away, Lhong slouched into a more relaxed stance. His body started to register just how tired he was, and he was tempted to slump onto the ground right then and there. To lay down and curl up, never to rise again. “What’d they do to you?”

Klui scowled. “I knew them at university. They used to give me and my roommate a hard time. Thought that he was weird. But it was always little comments, snide remarks, you know. Nothing too obvious. This time…” He crossed his arms. “They saw me alone and I guess they liked their odds because one of them got right up in my face and asked where my ‘faggot Korean boyfriend’ was. Idiots. He’s not even Korean! So I punched him.”

“Because your friend isn’t Korean?”

Klui clicked his tongue in a way that smacked of annoyance. “No! Duh. Come on. Because… they were… full of shit, that’s why! Talking about him like that? And calling him… I mean, he’s gonna be a goddamn star! And they—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Oh. Got it,” said Lhong, not really getting it at all. Well, he got the first bit. About Klui standing up for his… roommate? Friend? Boyfriend? The rest kind of went over his head. This man, Klui, was… a lot.

Lhong was exhausted. Staying focused and keeping up a conversation was starting to grate at his nerves. White noise buzzed around the edges of his skull, pushing further and further inward. He put a hand to his forehead.

“We should get you to a hospital,” said Klui.

“I’m fine,” said Lhong. He gestured vaguely down the sidewalk. “I’m just… gonna head home.”

“Huh? But you should really get that nose looked at. At least let me get you a car.”

“No, thanks.”

Klui frowned. “You shouldn’t let the things Type said make you act stupid.”

Gritting his teeth, Lhong imagined pushing Klui off the sidewalk and into the street, the man flailing his arms in surprise. In the fantasy Lhong was grinning. In reality he tensed, his hands grabbing at his upper arms to hold himself together, as though he were made of porcelain and starting to crack.

“I’d rather walk.” Not meeting the other man’s eyes, he said, “Thank you. For…” He fell silent. Then, “I’m going now.”

He did just that. Ignoring Klui’s protests, Lhong set off down the sidewalk. Despite what he’d said, he had no real destination in mind. Just… away. Alone. So it could stop. He wanted it all to stop. Nothing really mattered anyways. A headache pulsed in his frontal lobe, but even that he didn’t care about.

He walked for what felt like hours, until the soles of his feet ached as much as his shoulder and his nose and his forehead. His whole body was pain.

Eventually he came to a bridge. Halfway across, he turned and walked up to the railing. He wrapped his fingers around the cool metal—except, for some reason, only his right hand felt it. He looked down to find Tharn’s bloodied shirt still clutched in his left hand, serving as a barrier between the metal and his skin. Somehow he’d forgotten he had it. Sighing, he stared out into a dark, starless sky.

Behind him traffic was sparse but steady, even at this late hour. It was comforting to Lhong in a way, for its familiarity, but equally did he hate it, for the same reason. For a long time, Bangkok was the only world Lhong knew. But now he’d seen more of the world, cities bigger and stranger, but also smaller towns, and villages that went absolutely silent past dark. Not many of those, to be fair. The few friends he’d made in Germany rarely liked visiting such spots. What was the point if there weren’t bars open past midnight to keep the beer flowing?

Still, Lhong missed it. Leaning out over the railing, he looked down at the water below. It was still and quiet. Beautiful. Where he’d been studying at university in Germany, though it might be as busy as any night here in Bangkok, Lhong always felt… safe. Anonymous. Odd, given that he stood out far more there than he did here. In Thailand he at least blended in. But despite that, and despite logic telling him that it made no sense, here he felt under the microscope in a way he never did in Germany, as though every passing car had its headlights on just to illuminate _him_ , to expose all his flaws to the world, all his sins.

Lhong hated it. He wanted to scream at them to stop, just stop! But he couldn’t. He couldn’t scream. That wasn’t something a person was allowed to do.

Lost, not in thought but in emptiness, Lhong pressed a thumb against the inside of his wrist. He rubbed the ridges he could feel there even through his shirt, long-sleeved like all the other shirts in his carefully curated wardrobe. Stepping onto a horizontal bar barely six inches off the ground, Lhong relaxed his grip on the top railing and let his long torso sway in the breeze. It would be so easy. Like falling onto a mattress, a gentle acquiescence to gravity. Nothing dramatic or painful. Perhaps the last moment would be painful, but what did that matter? He already hurt all over.

Lifting one leg higher, Lhong’s fingers squeezed the railing for balance. In one palm, the harsh dig of metal. In the other…

He set his foot back down. His eyes turned to the shirt in his left hand. Tharn’s shirt. Given to him in a moment of compassion, and left behind on accident.

_I can’t take his shirt with me_ , Lhong thought. _I can’t steal anything else from him._

Realizing what he had to do, Lhong stepped down off of the railing and turned around, facing the street. Cars sped past in both directions.

_I have to give it back._

*

Type was waiting for him at the car by the time Tharn caught up.

That was a good sign.

They spent the entire car ride home in complete silence.

That was not.

Tharn shot many a worried glance at his boyfriend as Type drove them—these days he took any chance he got to drive the nice car Tharn had bought him—back to their apartment. His attempts to make eye contact were futile, as Type stared straight out the windshield the whole time without once breaking face.

After an eternity of quiet that stung like a thousand fire ants, they reached home. Type parked and headed straight into their apartment building. Tharn trailed a few steps behind. They rode the elevator together like strangers and were soon entering their apartment, one after the other, the door closing behind them with a deafening click. Tharn watched Type as he moved about the room, taking off his shoes, setting down his keys. His back stayed to Tharn as he went about his business. Tharn quickly gave up waiting for Type to speak first.

“Ai’Type?”

Type walked to their balcony doors and pulled the curtains shut.

“Forgive me. Please.”

Next Type went to the dresser, fetching a tank-top and pair of boxer shorts to sleep in. Still he said nothing, but Tharn could see the line of tension in his jaw.

“Come on, Type, talk to me.”

“Can’t you ever think first?”

Type looked at him for the first time since leaving Ainu, and his eyes pierced like daggers. Tharn swallowed.

“I know,” he said. “I know that I was stupid. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He took a step forward, his arms outstretched to Type, intent clear. Looking disgusted, Type moved out of reach. The dismissiveness of Type’s response sent a spike of pain through Tharn’s chest, like a chisel had come down on his heart and cracked it in two. His teeth clenched, and he tried not to let his sadness boil over into frustration. _Type has every right to be angry_ , he reminded himself. _I fucked up._ _This is the time to grovel_.

“You were right. I should have known better. I’ll do anything you want to make it okay again.” All his muscles tensed as he fought the instinct to rush to Type’s side and wrap him up in his arms. His body didn’t feel right without Type’s pressed against it. “Just don’t be mad at me, na? I’m sorry.”

“I’m… trying not to be,” said Type, his words stilted. With some difficulty he met Tharn’s gaze and Tharn saw the truth of it there in his eyes, the conflict raging within him as he tried to overcome his emotional nature. “Okay? I just…” Hands on his hips, Type half turned away.

Seeing Type’s distress quieted the storm inside of Tharn. He still felt guilt, but his fear had been replaced by compassion, and pity.

“What?” he asked softly.

For a moment Type didn’t speak. Then he turned back towards Tharn, his chin lifted high, as though daring Tharn to challenge him. But Tharn knew his boyfriend well enough to know that this gesture wasn’t really made in challenge, but in shame. Type hiding his own uncertainty behind a pretense of righteousness.

“I wanted to kill him,” Type said. “I saw him there and I… Even before I heard what he did, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to take my fist and smash it into his broken nose. But you looked like you’d rather kiss him instead.”

Tharn’s heart gave a loud _thump_. “ _What_? Type, I never—”

“No, sorry, I don’t…” Type pressed a hand to his forehead. “I didn’t mean, like, literally. That’s not… I meant that… it’s different with you. You looked as close to him as you ever did. Like you cared about him as much as you ever had. I don’t know.” He shook his head, eyes unfocused. “Maybe that’s part of why I wanted to kill him. Maybe that’s why I feel this way.”

Now Tharn understood. It’s not that Type wasn’t mad at him—he was. He was mad that Tharn would be so foolish, and that he could possibly feel such kindness for someone that Type hated so much. But he was also mad at himself. For feeling nothing _but_ hatred in his heart, with no room for kindness at all.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling that way,” said Tharn. “You have every right to want those things. I don’t blame you.”

Type scoffed again, but this time there was genuine amusement in it. “Damn you, Ai’Tharn,” he said, the tension melting from his body. “You know that if you don’t blame me for being too big an asshole then I can’t blame you for being too big a saint.”

A tentative smile tugged at Tharn’s lips. He took one step, and then another when Type gave him no indication to stop. Happily he strode all the way to Type’s side and wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on Type’s shoulder. Type didn’t return the hug, but Tharn felt him smile.

“That’s okay too,” he murmured. “If you don’t forgive me right away.”

Type _tsk_ -ed. “Now you’re just being annoying.”

Secretly delighted, Tharn feigned a look of shock and drew back. “By loving and supporting my boyfriend?”

Even Type couldn’t resist the grin that came over his face then. As he smiled, his eyes lit up in the way Tharn cherished most.

“Uh,” Type agreed in mock displeasure. “So knock that off.”

Humming, Tharn leaned forward again as though simply letting the weight of gravity pull him back into Type’s arms. His head nuzzled against Type’s. This time Type hugged him in return.

“Mm, I guess I’m doomed to be an annoyance, then,” said Tharn. “But I’m okay with that. As long as I’m always _your_ annoyance.”

“Oh believe me, you are,” teased Type. Then his arms tightened around Tharn. “Mine and nobody else’s.”

*

It was nearly 2:00 in the morning when Thorn woke to the strangest text he’d ever received. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he stumbled out of bed and hastily pulled on a t-shirt, before leaving his room and tiptoeing through the house as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake his family. He opened the front door with a yawn.

The sight before Thorn shocked him awake, and he nearly choked mid-yawn. On his porch stood a bruised and bloody Lhong, his body battered but his eyes unsettlingly vacant, arm outstretched like a supplicant at temple, holding the offering promised in his text.

_Please unlock the door so I can return Tharn’s shirt to you._

_Well_ , thought Thorn wryly. _No one could accuse Lhong of false advertising._ The shirt, like Lhong’s face, was crusted with blood. Thorn noticed this one unpleasant detail before forgetting about the shirt entirely, focusing on the only thing that really mattered. He took a breath.

“I had to get it back to him,” said Lhong, cutting Thorn off before he even got a chance to speak. “He gave it to me and… well, he didn’t give it, he left it. And I could have left it on your front step, but I was afraid, you know, what if someone came and snatched it up and… He has to get it. I have to get it to him.”

Lhong reached out further, nearly pushing the shirt into Thorn’s chest. Without looking at it, Thorn grabbed the fabric and immediately dropped it to the ground. Lhong’s brow twisted. His eyes followed the shirt, real emotion sparking in them for the first time since Thorn had opened the door.

“Wait, you can’t—”

Thorn stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Lhong’s shoulder. Lhong flinched. His wide eyes locked on Thorn’s, all emotion but shock driven out.

“Lhong, what happened to you?”

He almost asked whether Tharn was responsible for it, but that didn’t make sense. Why, then, would Lhong have his shirt? Unless Tharn had beaten Lhong to a pulp, and then instantly felt remorse and tried to make up for it. But no, Thorn thought it far more likely that someone else had been the perpetrator. Perhaps Tum. Probably Type.

Lhong said nothing, only stared at him in continued shock. Lips pursed, Thorn took firm hold of Lhong’s chin and tilted his head this way and that, then did a full visual examination of the rest of his body. There was a cut near his eye and a bleeding, likely broken, nose. He held his right arm a bit gingerly, which explained the earlier flinch. Thorn suspected bruising. Whether any other damage hid beneath Lhong’s clothes, he couldn’t tell.

“You need to see a doctor,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “Get yourself patched up.”

Lhong shook his head. It took Thorn a moment to realize that it wasn’t a refusal to Thorn’s statement, but an uncontrollable tremor. He dropped his hand from Lhong’s chin.

“I didn’t do it,” said Lhong. His lip started trembling and soon his whole body seemed to vibrate. Tears filled his eyes and quickly spilled over, tumbling down his cheeks, but he didn’t once blink or pause to wipe them away. He only stared, straight at Thorn. Thorn watched the man break down with horrified pity.

“I didn’t do it,” Lhong repeated.

“Didn’t do what?” asked Thorn.

Like lightning, Lhong’s hands shot out and grabbed Thorn’s, squeezing viciously. “I didn’t do it, P’Thorn.” His wild eyes were begging Thorn for something. Belief? Absolution? Whatever it was, he seemed to decide that he wasn’t going to get it, because he collapsed with a sob, his hands slipping free of Thorn’s as he crumpled at his feet. “I swear I didn’t do it. I _didn’t_.” He wailed, the sound of his anguish splitting the night’s quiet.

Falling to his own knees, Thorn wrapped his arms around Lhong and pulled him close, taking care to turn Lhong’s face so that his nose wouldn’t press into Thorn’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Lhong, it’s okay. I know you didn’t. I know.”

Lhong cried harder, grabbing hold of Thorn’s shirt near his waist and rocking back and forth in his arms.

“It’s okay,” said Thorn. “It’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: It wasn't actually my intention for Tharn and Type to resolve things so quickly, but it seems these two will not be kept apart even by me, haha! 
> 
> There will be at least one more chapter. Thanks to everyone for reading, and especially those who have taken the time to comment! I love to hear your thoughts about the characters and the events of the story.


	5. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of philosophy, and acceptance of an imperfect world.

When he finally got Lhong to calm down, Thorn insisted that he stay the night and accept a ride to the hospital in the morning. Lhong’s tears seemed to have sapped him of his energy, and he wearily agreed. Thorn led him into the house. Though his father was away on business, both his mother and Thanya were still at home, so they tread and spoke quietly.

“You can sleep in Tharn’s room,” he offered.“It’s—”

_Empty_ , he’d been about to say. But Lhong interjected with a vehement, “No!” and Thorn stopped. They stood together in the middle of the living room. Lhong swallowed and stared down at the floor, head hung low.

“Thank you, but I… I’d rather sleep on the couch.”

Thorn paused. Calm as ever, he said, “Take my room, then. I won’t have you scare Princess in the morning, lying there on the couch looking the way you do.”

A flicker of bashful amusement crossed Lhong’s face, as though he felt unworthy of smiling at Thorn’s remark. Concerned, Thorn sighed—but only in his head. It would do no good to overwhelm the boy with Thorn’s emotions, when he was clearly already drowning under the weight of his own.

“But then… where will _you_ sleep, Phi?”

“In Tharn’s bed.” He shrugged. “Older brother’s prerogative.”

At this Lhong _did_ chuckle. Thorn smiled and placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. Lhong blinked up at him, one eye already bruising and his nose still red and swollen, traces of blood lingering on his upper lip and by the cut near his eye. He painted a pitiful portrait.

“Let’s get you to bed. You settle in and I’ll get you some ice for your eye and your shoulder.” At Lhong’s surprised look, Thorn gave a little smirk. His eyes stared deep into the other man’s, making sure he knew that he was seen. “Yes, I noticed the shoulder too. Come. It’s time to rest now.”

Still gripping Lhong’s good shoulder, Thorn led him to his bedroom before returning to the kitchen to fetch the ice he’d promised. Even as he did, his heart was heavy. For in it he knew that it would take far more than ice to heal that boy’s wounds.

*

It was much earlier than Tharn liked to be awake when he pulled into the carport at his family’s house on Saturday morning. The time was particularly brutal for a weekend. Normally he would have slept in late, then nudged and wheedled his way into spending a lazy morning in bed with Type.

Not today. Though they’d patched things up the night before, it was just that: a patch. A bandaid on the problem. Tharn tossed and turned most of the night, hours ticking past in the unchanging, suffocating black. There was too much on his mind. Guilt for his part in their fight. Shame at having been played for a fool, again. Sadness that Lhong hadn’t been genuine after all. Even _s_ _tronger_ guilt that he would dare to feel such a thing.

When Type woke before dawn, unusual, and found Tharn already awake, even more unusual, tension hung thick in the air between them. It filled the space like a swarm of invisible mosquitos.

Or maybe Tharn was just too sleep-deprived to invent an appropriate metaphor. Either was possible at this point.

They exchanged ‘good morning’ pleasantries, mostly to reassure each other that everything was still all right between them. But it was forced, and awkward, and sorrow cut like a knife through the butter of Tharn’s chest. (All right, he definitely needed more sleep.) It was a relief when Type got up to take a shower.

By the time he returned, Tharn was already dressed. He chose to forgo a shower, claiming an important, time-sensitive errand. It was half true. He _did_ need to swing by his house to pick up a guitar he’d left there the previous weekend. Urgent? Maybe not. Nevertheless, he left the tense atmosphere of their apartment with a promise to see Type later that day, then he got into his car and didn’t look back.

Now he was parked outside his house at gross-it’s-early in the morning. A thick blanket of fatigue wrapped around his body. He rolled aching shoulders as he walked up the steps to his front door, where he removed his shoes and let himself in with a key. The house was silent. Thinking to get in and out without disturbing anyone, Tharn slipped through rooms and over hardwood floors until he reached his bedroom. He cracked the door open. The room was dim, but enough sunlight seeped in through the curtains that he didn’t bother flicking on the light switch, instead making straight for the opposite corner. He lifted his guitar from its stand and cradled its familiar shape against his body. Smiling, he strummed the strings gently, taking comfort in the music that rose from his fingertips.

Sheets rustled, and a groggy voice broke through the darkness. “Who’s there?”

Heart pounding, Tharn spun around at the same time that a lamp flicked on. Across the room, a ruffled Thorn squinted his eyes open.

“Oh. Tharn. What are you doing here?”

“ _Me_?” Tharn demanded, still feeling the adrenaline rush. “What are _you_ doing here?”

His voice was a little too loud, a little too harsh, and Thorn winced. Tharn immediately felt sorry. He told himself to calm down now that the fright was past. It was only Thorn.

“Sorry, Phi. You startled me. You know this is my room, right?”

Thorn snorted and sat up against the headboard, starting to look awake. “I am aware of that.”

“Then… why are you here?”

“It’s not like _you_ were using it.”

Thorn was teasing him, as an older brother is wont to do, and normally Tharn would have played along. But this morning? He was tired. Far too tired. He forced himself to count to five before responding so that he didn’t say anything rude.

“But why aren’t you in _your_ room?”

“I had to give it to someone else.”

“Who?”

Scratching at his head, Thorn fixed his brother with a contemplative stare. Then,

“N’Lhong.”

Later, Tharn would swear that he momentarily blacked out. Darkness that sizzled like an old television screen pressed in on him from all sides, a tunnel that shrank around him until the lamplight was only a pinprick, and then gone.

He sucked in air. The world reappeared around him, but his nerves still buzzed.

“What… is _he_ doing here?”

His brother pushed back the covers and got out of bed. “I told him to stay.” Though his expression was calm, it was clear from the way he crossed his arms that Thorn was already anticipating, and preparing for, a fight.

“ _Stay_? Why the hell was he here in the _first_ place? Did you invite him?”

“No, he came to return your shirt.”

This stunned Tharn enough to steal his voice away, at least for a second.

Thorn continued. “I don’t know what happened last night, Ai’Tharn. But I don’t think Lhong was responsible for it.”

The fury of a thousand suns burned inside of him. Unable to successfully con Tharn, Lhong had moved on to his gullible older brother instead. Unbelievable. Actually, _not_ unbelievable. Just despicable. Nausea churned in Tharn’s stomach and he marched to the door, left hand squeezing the neck of his guitar.

“I’m getting him out of here, _right_ now.”

He was halfway down the hall before Thorn caught up to him. His brother grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to a halt just outside of the bedroom currently occupied by Lhong. Before Thorn could speak, Tharn yanked his arm back and rounded on him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, P’Thorn,” he hissed. He jabbed a finger at the bedroom door. “That person got one of my friends beat up and then tried to convince me that he was the _hero_ of it all. He hasn’t changed one bit. Or did you forget all the things he did three years ago?”

“I didn’t forget.”

“Then why didn’t you throw him out? Huh? Even without last night, everything he’s done up until now was enough to—”

“Because. I’d already forgiven him for all that.”

“You…” Tharn gaped at the other man, certain that he’d misheard, but Thorn’s steady gaze didn’t falter. Astonishment hardened into anger. He felt cold all over. “When?”

“A week ago. We met by chance in a café.”

“How… how could you forgive him?” Disgusted, Tharn sneered at the very idea. Thorn’s impassivity was just salt in the wound. He could hardly believe it. He’d always looked up to his older brother, in everything. Kind, virtuous, pious Thorn. He was everything Tharn wanted to be. But this… Did he even know his brother at all? Sickly, he asked, “Is he supposed to think that everything he did is all right now?”

Thorn’s brow creased, and he peered at Tharn with confusion. Not the confusion of one who was ignorant, but of one surprised to find ignorance in another.

“Forgiveness isn’t absolution, Tharn. I don’t have the power to grant divine clemency. Only to help a brother in pain.”

“He doesn’t deserve help.”

“What kind of world would it be if all of us only ever got what we deserved?”

“A fair one.”

Thorn nodded. “Fair. And cold. Every act of cruelty multiplied upon itself, until there was no more room for love or kindness.”

“So we no longer punish evil-doers, is that it?” Tharn gave a bitter huff. What idiotic spirit had possessed his brother to make him spout this pseudo-philosophical bullshit? “Let them do whatever they want, continue to bring _their_ cruelty into the world? It isn’t always enough to fight hate with love. Sometimes it has to be stopped.”

“When there is no other way. But I’m not ready to give up on my brother. Trust me, Lhong hasn’t gone unpunished. He _wants_ to change.”

“But it wasn’t your forgiveness to give, P’Thorn! His crimes weren’t against you. They were against Tar, and Type, and me. You don’t have the right to forgive on our behalf.”

For the first time, Thorn’s gaze grew cold enough to match Tharn’s. He drew himself up taller, showing in no uncertain terms that he was unimpressed by Tharn’s broader figure.

“It’s not your place to tell me what I may do, Nong Tharn,” he said. “When Dad isn’t around, _I’m_ the man of this house. I decide what goes on here. Not you. I’m still your older brother.”

“Who doesn’t give a damn about me!” Tharn knew he was getting loud, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too angry. Too hurt. Now he understood exactly how Type had felt three years ago. Even though Tharn hadn’t offered Lhong forgiveness, the distinction clear to _him_ , it must have felt differently to Type. It must have felt like betrayal, and presumption of the highest nature for Tharn to believe he had any right to offer compassion for sins that had affected others more deeply than himself. “Lhong terrorized the people I love, he _destroyed_ my life, and you would—”

“That’s exactly _why_ it had to be me.”

Tharn blinked, thrown by this leap of logic. Even were he _not_ exhausted, he didn’t think it would make any sense. He listened as his brother kept talking.

“My forgiveness isn’t on your behalf, it is mine alone. Who could ever ask you, or Type, or Tar, to forgive him? Yet he _needs_ that compassion if he is ever going to heal. And it must be from someone he trusts. Someone that knows all there is to know about him, and forgives him still.” Thorn sighed, his gaze softening into something warm and sympathetic and proud, and Tharn felt uncomfortably… seen. A little boy caught throwing a tantrum who, instead of being punished, was offered a hug and a kiss instead. “I’m trying to protect you from carrying that burden. Let me.”

Tharn crossed his arms and glared. “What do I care about his needs?”

“Ai’Tharn.” All of Thorn’s earlier coldness was gone. Back was the kind, wry brother that Tharn knew. With a smile that was half amusement and half pity, Thorn said simply, “I know you.”

The truth of his words rang out, but Tharn wasn’t quite ready to concede. All his insides were tied up in one giant knot. 

“Why should he get our compassion?” he asked. “ _He_ never had any to give.”

Thorn shot him a look that said, _You know better than that._ “You don’t give a loan to someone already flush with riches. You give it to those who have none. If you don’t, how can you ever expect them to pay it back to you?”

Finally Tharn broke. He couldn’t keep up his posturing any longer. After all, they both knew the truth. All the denial in the world couldn’t change the fact that Thorn was right.

Tharn _did_ care.

Still, in true younger brother fashion, he couldn’t help but continue pouting even in defeat. “Your metaphor’s clumsy, Phi,” he grumbled, petulant yet apologetic at the same time. The best olive branch he could muster. “Someone without a loan wouldn’t _need_ to pay it back.”

Thorn’s eyes twinkled. As always, he saw right through Tharn, damn him.

“He would also never get up on his feet again,” he said, “or be able to give a loan of his own one day. And we would have failed him. To care for others means caring for the lowest of us, those who most need it. Not only those who can already take care of themselves.” He paused. “Isn’t that why you gave him your shirt?”

_Who are you truly angry at, Tharn?_

Hypocrisy surged up Tharn’s throat and he choked on it. Too many emotions were riled up inside of him. Was Thorn being naive and Tharn was weak to go along with it? Was it wrong to lend his hand to a man who’d done such evils? He didn’t know what to think, what to do. Where were the lines between compassion, forgiveness, and absolution?

Amidst the storm of his thoughts, Thorn’s voice reached him like a buoy in the ocean. He clung to it, letting the rest fade away.

“You don’t need to approve of my choices,” said Thorn. “But you will respect them. As I do yours.” _It’s up to you_ , his eyes said. _However you feel, and whatever you choose to do, it’s all okay by me_.

His brother’s total acceptance helped calm Tharn’s tormented heart. He breathed, until the screaming in his skull subsided and his pulse beat a slow, even rhythm. His grip on the guitar relaxed. There was no ‘right’ answer. Thorn had given him the permission he hadn’t been able to give himself—to accept what was, and do what was right for _him_ , without hating himself for whatever that might mean.

“I want to speak to him,” he said.

Eyes sweeping Tharn’s face, Thorn considered him thoughtfully. After a moment he nodded. “All right. Just know, if you hurt that boy while you’re in my house, you’ll be sharing the ride to the hospital with him.”

This threat hung in the air as Tharn moved towards the door.

“Ai’Tharn?”

He looked back over his shoulder.

“No one can act that well,” said Thorn. “Whatever happened last night… he didn’t do it.”

Tharn paused. Without saying a word, he pushed open the door to Thorn’s bedroom.

*

Lhong woke to a vicious throb in his nose and shoulder. One eye was completely swollen shut. He grimaced. It was a miracle he’d ever fallen asleep in the first place. Inch by inch, Lhong pushed himself upright until he could reach the glass of water on his—or Thorn’s—bedside table, and the couple of pills that lay there. He swallowed them down.

After a few seconds, he realized there was hardly any light yet in the room. It couldn’t have been much past dawn. So what had woken him? He would have believed it was merely the pain in his body reaching a fever pitch, but then the ache in his head lessened enough that he began to hear words. Whispers.

No, not whispers. Regular words, just quiet in his ears. They came from out in the hallway. Indiscernible through the door.

Moving gingerly, Lhong slipped from under the covers and padded to the door on silent feet. He leaned against the wood. Each of his injuries was like a beacon of pain. Hot. Sore. Pulsing. He ignored his wrenched shoulder and broken nose and swollen eye, shifting all of his attention to the conversation taking place a few feet away.

“... _get our compassion?_ He _never had any to give_.”

Oh, _fuck_! Lhong reared back from the door.

That was Tharn. Tharn’s voice. Tharn was here.

Which meant that he, Lhong, was a very, very dead man.

Why was he here? Had Thorn called him? Questions crowded Lhong’s mind as he whirled around, eyes locking on his only possible escape route. The window. His body tensed, ready to hobble in that direction.

He didn’t move. Against all his better instincts, with his heart sprinting a marathon in his chest, Lhong pressed his ear back against the door.

He heard Tharn whine at his older brother and he heard Thorn’s kindness. He heard the hefty pause that followed when Thorn asked, “ _Isn’t that why you gave him your shirt?_ ” Lhong held his breath as he waited for Tharn’s reply.

Except the next thing that Tharn said was, “ _I want to speak to him._ ”

Lhong panicked. He fell away from the door, wincing when the movement sent a jolt through his arm that reverberated through every point of hurt on his body. There wasn’t time. Wasn’t time to reach the window and make his escape. What should he do? What should he _do_?

He was still caught in anxious indecision when Tharn entered. No knock. No warning. Only click, push, here I am.

Tharn was carrying a guitar, and he was beautiful.

Not because of the guitar. Just because he was Tharn. Gods, would Lhong ever stop having that reaction to his old friend?

Probably not. But it calmed him. For some reason, Tharn’s beauty made him feel… safe. At home.

They stared at each other. After a second of surprise—no doubt at finding Lhong planted in the middle of the room like a statue—Tharn’s features smoothed out and he shut the door, turning on the light as he did. His eyes flicked back and forth between Lhong’s. He took a step forward, where Lhong finally got a closer look at the man.

A salacious grin curled his lips. “Well well. _S_ _omeone_ got no sleep last night. Is that because you _didn’t_ make up with your boyfriend or because you _did_?”

Then he froze.

The joke was completely innocent. One hundred percent friendly in color and intonation.

It was also way out of line.

Once upon a time he could have teased Tharn like that, but not now. Those years were long gone. Even back then, Tharn would probably have pursed his lips and given him _the_ _look_ , the one that said _Too far,_ while still expressing fondness for his friend.

Lhong would kill for that look now.

But he knew better. A chill of horror spread through him even before, sure enough, Tharn turned away, his nose scrunched with cold disdain, eyes narrowed at the wall. Mortified, Lhong stammered out an apology.

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t… know why I said that.”

Silence warped the space between them. Lhong’s chest grew tighter and tighter, a rubber band stretched far enough to snap. Why was he so _stupid_? How could he have slipped and said such a thing? It was as if seeing Tharn had turned him into his younger self and he’d reacted purely on instinct. All his masks and barriers discarded for the first time since…

When? Three years ago? Gods. What the hell kind of life was he living?

_A_ _better life than the ones you’ve ruined_ , his brain reminded him. _You don’t deserve it_.

What was the point then?

_There is none_.

His shoulder ached. His nose, his forehead. His back, his chest, his legs, his arms.

_Let it be over_.

“Thorn says you weren’t responsible for last night.”

Lhong blinked. Through vision gone hazy, Tharn now appeared before him again.

“Huh?”

“Is that true?”

“I—”

A denial nearly tumbled off his tongue; Lhong caught himself just in time. So stupid! Why would he lie? Why make Tharn think the worst of him when it wasn’t even true?

Unless… to protect himself from the sting when Tharn inevitably didn’t believe him.

No. He wouldn’t do it. Tharn deserved better than a coward. Besides, what did it matter anymore? His sanity was already frayed at the edges.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s true.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?”

Tired, he could only chuckle at Tharn’s endearing naivety. A crack of impatience broke through Tharn’s visage.

“Is everything a joke to you?” he demanded.

“It was funny, really.” Lhong nodded, lost in a world of his own. His comment was in no way related to the one that had come before it. “Getting a taste of my own medicine. I deserved it, after all the things I did to them.”

“Just answer the damn question, Lhong. If you really are innocent, why didn’t you say something?”

At the sound of his name, Lhong dragged himself back to the real world. “There was nothing I could have said to convince you. You would never have believed me over Type, your most trusted person. He made me powerless. Just like I did to all your boyfriends.” He paused, letting this sink in. Then, “I’d never been on that side of it before. I didn’t like it. But… who doesn’t enjoy a good cosmic joke, right?”

*

“But… who doesn’t enjoy a good cosmic joke, right?”

A smile stretched across Lhong’s cheeks, but the feeling it expressed wasn’t joy. If anything he seemed… unbalanced. Broken. Hollow, like a marionette controlled by its master’s strings.

“Then…” Tharn was so unsettled he could barely keep his eyes on Lhong’s face, but the man didn’t seem to care. He appeared almost peaceful. Tharn soldiered on. “Why’d you do it? Why jump in to help a perfect stranger?”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Help a stranger.”

Tharn shot him a confused look.

“I saw him leave your table,” explained Lhong. “I knew he was your friend.”

“So you… helped Klui _because_ he was my friend?”

“I don’t know. I just… did. Maybe. Probably. I mean, why _else_ would I? I’ve never had a moment of bravery in my life that wasn’t selfishly motivated.”

“You wanted me to know that you’d done it, then.”

“No!” Lhong answered with such raw, brutal honesty that Tharn had to believe him. “No. I never wanted you to see me again. Not ever. I just didn’t… didn’t think first. So stupid…”

His eye—the one that Tharn could see—became unfocused, taking on a strange, misty gleam. Tharn had the distinct notion that Lhong was only a gentle nudge away from breaking in half, losing his self amongst the pain and the madness. How long had he stood this close to the edge? What could Tharn say to pull him back?

It didn’t help that Tharn was struggling to make sense of what Lhong had said. If saving Klui was selfish, but he hadn’t wanted any credit for it, then what was the endgame? What selfish purpose did it serve? There were only two possible answers he could concoct.

Tharn reached a decision.

“You’re wrong.”

This quiet statement earned him one blink, then another, and then Lhong met his gaze, once again looking present and alive. Tharn bit back a smile. Years might come and go, but he still knew his old friend well—knew that nothing was as likely to get his attention as being contradicted. The man simply couldn’t help his proud, competitive nature.

_F_ _uck_. He _still_ missed Lhong. The once-upon-a-fairytale Lhong who was nothing but a good friend, a _best_ friend. Still he ached for that person. How was that _possible_? When would he be free?

_You won’t_ , he understood with sudden and final clarity. _It can fade. But it will never disappear_.

And he had to live with that. Just as Lhong had to live with all he had done, and knowing that it separated him from Tharn forever. For some reason, this realization brought him a kind of peace he hadn’t known he lacked.

“You’re not being fair to yourself,” he said. A wrinkle formed in Lhong’s brow that was both confused and argumentative, if a facial tic could be said to argue. This time Tharn didn’t resist a smile. “I don’t think you were acting selfishly. You put yourself in harm’s way to help someone even _though_ they were my friend. If you’d thought about it, you’d have known I would find you there, and you said yourself you didn’t want that. So the selfish thing to do would have been to run. You didn’t. You reacted on instinct, and your instinct was to be good. Which means… your inner voice isn’t selfish at all. It’s the opposite.”

As he spoke, Lhong’s shoulders drew back, holding him up high as a light took root in his eyes, illuminating his entire being. Hope, and wonder, and a desperate desire to believe.

It made Tharn glad that he’d lied.

He was no Type. He wasn’t above lying or manipulating to get his way. Despite his words, he _did_ believe that Lhong had acted selfishly. It was simply that his desire to take care of Tharn preceded all other self-motivated impulses, even self-preservation. Tharn’s protection was his top priority, and protecting Tharn from pain meant protecting his friends as well. Seeking this end, therefore, was still selfish. Without giving Lhong the same choice, to help or not to help, but in the service of a complete stranger, there was no way to know what his true instincts were. Outside of his obsession with Tharn, at least. Those instincts were clear.

On one level, this was disturbing.

On another level, wasn’t this kind of selfishness better than that which had led him to hurt and deceive and abuse? He understood now that “protecting Tharn” didn’t mean isolating him and attacking those he loved, but caring for them. The groundwork was laid. If Tharn could propel Lhong down this path by fudging a truth or two, by giving undeserved hope to a lost and broken man… then damn it, he would.

Even if, not ten minutes ago, he’d been prepared to throw said man out on his ear.

_Thorn really did a number on me_ , he thought.

Stunned, Lhong sank down on the edge of the mattress. “I did something… good?” He smiled, and this time the smile was genuine. A burden had been lifted, such that he looked like a young man again, free of cares and of the weight of loss and sin. Tears shone in his eyes.

Tharn let him have a moment. Then, moving slowly, he leaned his guitar against the bed and sat next to Lhong.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to for three years.”

Lhong bit his lip, no doubt to keep the tears at bay. No one had ever looked at Tharn with such intense gratitude before. It was clear that Lhong was at least as affected by Tharn sitting by him, treating him like a normal person, like a _friend_ , as he had been by Tharn’s speech.

Taking a deep breath, Lhong reined in his emotions and sat tall. As though they were just old friends catching up over coffee, he told Tharn about his life in Germany. About his sister, and his studies, and his few friends. Tharn noticed that Lhong did not put the question back to him, but he didn’t mind that. It was probably for the best.

A strained undercurrent ran through their conversation. Everything a little too formal, too polite. The two men very aware of their tenuous truce. Secrets and lies and unspoken feelings lingered beneath the surface, a low electric hum in their bodies.

But it was still pleasant, and Tharn was happy. It was a quiet sort of happy, but real nonetheless. He saw it reflected in Lhong’s face as well, and as the minutes passed he grew more relaxed, muffling the voice in his mind that still told him he was wrong, bad, disgusting to speak this way with Lhong.

“Do you still play?” Tharn asked, placing a hand on his guitar.

“No. I write songs sometimes, but… I don’t perform in public anymore.”

“Why not?”

Lhong pursed his lips in lieu of a shrug.

Sorrow bloomed in Tharn’s heart. Music had always been their dream. His most of all, but Lhong’s also. There could be no question that Lhong had done the right thing in leaving the music college so that Tharn could keep his dream alive, but learning that Lhong had never rekindled his own passion for music in all the years since their falling out… It made Tharn ache with pity.

Picking up the guitar, he held it towards his old friend. “Will you play one for me?”

“Can’t,” Lhong said. He lifted his right shoulder a little, and the movement caused him to wince. He gave a bitter half-smile. “Shoulder.”

Tharn felt a stab in the gut. He hadn’t realized Lhong was injured even beyond what he could see.

“Then…” Settling the guitar onto his own lap, he masked his guilt with a warm, outgoing smile. “You sing. I’ll play.”

“You… want to play with me?”

“Mm.”

Lhong stared at him. After a long pause, he asked, “One of our old songs?”

“No, I want to hear something new you’ve written.”

“But how—?”

“Choose one with a simple melody,” said Tharn. “You teach me the chords and I’ll play them while you sing. It might take us a while to figure out, but we’ll get the hang of it. We always play well together.”

One corner of Lhong’s mouth pulled upward. Eyes alight, no longer with madness but with affection, he nodded.

“Yeah. We do.”

It took much fumbling, with lots of stops and starts, to achieve the song with any measure of success. Lhong would pause in the middle of verses to dictate chord changes, then the duo would repeat the verse until Tharn had it down. All the while, as his lyrics poured from his lips, Lhong watched Tharn for a reaction. Tharn gave none. All he did was nod in time and strum his guitar.

But he heard. He heard the words of regret and loss and pain. Words of apology, of striving, of seeking a light in the darkness. Lhong’s song was mournful and raw, yet sprinkled with hope. It was beautiful. The sound of Lhong’s voice was itself beautiful, and Tharn was filled with a yearning for simpler times.

Eventually they made it through a full run without any screw-ups. After the last somber notes faded away, the two men turned to each other with proud grins that utterly dispelled the melancholy mood. They laughed, amused at their own childlike enthusiasm.

_This_ , thought Tharn. _This is what music is for_. Catharsis. Connection. Joy.

He opened his mouth to tell Lhong what a wonderful song he’d written.

“I wish you could know how sorry I am.”

Where moments ago had been joy, now there was only fear, pain, regret. The muscles of Lhong’s face tensed and twitched, like he couldn’t breathe, like he fought some battle with his inner demons.

“I don’t know how to…” He swallowed, long legs bouncing. “What words can there possibly be? How do I tell you?”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

Fearful eyes locked on Tharn’s, waiting. Expectant of some reprimand.

“Have you hurt anyone these last three years?”

Lhong slowly shook his head ‘no.’

“Then… I know. I know that you’re sorry.”

“Does it matter, though?”

Tharn knew he had to be honest. “Not to everyone. And that’s their right. But it matters to me. I’m proud of the changes you’ve made, Lhong.”

Wincing, Lhong’s head snapped forward so that he wasn’t staring directly at Tharn. A haunted shadow entered his dark eyes, his skin ghostly pale. Brow knitted, Tharn waited for the man to speak.

“I’m… afraid.”

“Of what?”

Fingers clutching at his shirtsleeves, Lhong lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “That… I haven’t changed at all. That I would do the same all over again if… if there was something I really wanted. For three years, nothing has mattered. I’ve wanted nothing. Not like… And if that were to change, I’m worried that… What if I did the same things all over again? Ai’Tharn, what if I’m still that person?”

Tharn grabbed Lhong by the arm. Tear-filled eyes flashed towards him.

“Do you _want_ to be that person again?”

“No! Not at all, I—”

“Then don’t be.” Tharn leaned closer. “I see the pain this has caused you. I _heard_ it in your song. Why would you be something, some _one_ , that you don’t want to be? Our choices are what define us, Lhong, not the other way around. Choose good, and _keep_ choosing good. I know you can. You _will_. I believe in you.”

Lhong’s lip trembled. His eyelashes fluttered in a way that asked, _You do?_

Relaxing his grip, Tharn ran a gentle hand down Lhong’s arm. “You’re not that way anymore. Just look at what you’ve done lately. You saved Klui when you didn’t have to, and then you came all the way here just to return a shirt.”

Lhong scoffed. “Giving back one lousy shirt is nothing compared to the things that I’ve _taken_ from other people.”

To hear some of Lhong’s characteristic sass again brought a smirk to Tharn’s face, even amidst all the angst and discomfort.

“Maybe not,” he agreed.

They became quiet. Tharn could see the turmoil on Lhong’s face. His words had provided some comfort, but not enough. The air felt heavy and itchy. Silence lingered, so quiet that he could hear Lhong’s breaths beside him. Finally he said,

“Why haven’t you asked for my forgiveness? Or to be my friend again?”

Lhong’s self-hatred hid away in the wake of his newfound confusion. He tilted his head at Tharn. “I don’t want those things,” he said, as though it were obvious.

_You don’t still love me?_ Tharn wanted to ask. But he didn’t. Such a question was only self-serving, and would be cruel to the other man.

“Why not?” he asked instead.

“Because…” Lhong floundered. “You can’t. I mean… I _know_ that you can’t. So I don’t want it. This…” Suddenly shy, he stared down at his lap. “This is enough. _More_ than enough.”

Suddenly Tharn felt the urge to cry. He waited until he was sure he wouldn’t, and then, just as he was about to tell Lhong that he was a better man than he knew, that Tharn was glad to have seen him again, there came a knock at the door.

Both men shot upright, sitting at attention like schoolboys found goofing off in class. The door cracked open and Thorn peeked in.

“Sorry, you two,” he said. “I gave as much time as I could, but I’d like to get Lhong to the hospital this morning. I don’t want to delay much longer.”

Clearing his throat, Tharn nodded and stood. Lhong followed suit. They walked out to join Thorn in the hallway.

“Phi, this really isn’t necessary,” said Lhong. “I’ll just go home and put some ice on—”

“It’s not up for negotiation,” said Thorn. “You _will_ start taking care of yourself, even if I have to force you to do so. Perhaps the doctor will prescribe you only ice and rest, but I’m going to hear that for myself.”

Wisely, Lhong said nothing.

“Are you here to stay?” asked Tharn. “In Thailand, I mean.”

Lhong’s eyebrows lifted with surprise. Apparently that question hadn’t yet occurred to him. He stared up at the ceiling as he mulled it over.

“No…” he said, drawing out the word, seeming to come to a decision even as he spoke. “I don’t belong here anymore. I think I’ll go back to Germany. I think I can have a life there.” A tender smile brightened his face. “Yeah. A life.”

In a confusing joke at his own expense, Tharn felt both relieved _and_ disappointed by this. Teeth clamping shut, he couldn’t think what to say. What to share without revealing _too_ much.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Thorn.

Panic twisted Lhong’s normally attractive features. He whipped back towards Tharn, knowing this was the last time they would see one another. _What if I get lost again?_ his wide eyes seemed to say. _What if I can’t do it without you?_

Before he could talk himself out of it, Tharn stepped forward and wrapped Lhong in a hug. The man froze. Hesitantly he put his arms around Tharn in return, squeezing tighter and tighter as he grew more comfortable with the embrace.

“You should start playing again, and singing,” said Tharn, quietly enough that Thorn wouldn’t hear. “Your music is a gift. It brings joy to the people around you. Don’t deny the world that.”

He let go, and was immediately overwhelmed by the unfiltered adoration in Lhong’s gaze. If he’d carried any doubts about whether Lhong still loved him, they were gone now.

It hurt. It hurt to let go of someone that loved him so deeply, someone that he loved in return.

But it was like Lhong had said. This was enough. Though drawn together like magnets, so too did they repel one another. They were better apart. What they had right now wasn’t really friendship and never could be again. Over time it would fester and rot. Once, their love had been strong enough to build a bridge between two souls, but that bridge had since been eaten away by violence and lies and distrust. It had crumbled, fallen, washed away in the river, and nothing could get it back. No wood nor rock nor metal was sturdy enough to withstand all the baggage they now carried with them. Some hurts were just too deep.

Sometimes love wasn’t enough.

He nevertheless struggled to withdraw from the magnetic pull of his old friend. It was clear Lhong felt the same. In an act of kindness, Thorn laid a hand on his brother’s arm, breaking the spell and helping him to take a step back and breathe.

“Maybe we’ll see you again someday,” Thorn offered.

After a second, the tension melted out of the air. Lhong smiled.

“On the news, maybe. ‘Super Sexy Singer Takes Germany By Storm!’”

Though he was grinning, a glimpse into the more mischievous days of his past, his eyes shone with thankfulness and regret. Tharn understood the true meaning behind his joking words.

_I won’t come back_.

Tharn took a steadying breath.

“I hope you’ll be happy," he said.

Lhong bit his lip, nodding quickly. “Thank you." His eyes flicked to Thorn. “Both.”

Looking far calmer than the other two, Thorn inclined his head and smiled. “You're always welcome in my home, Ai’Lhong. But come, we should go now.”

So they did. Tharn watched as this time, unlike their last two meetings, it was Lhong who walked away and left Tharn behind him. For several minutes after they had gone, Tharn stood alone in his living room, guitar in hand, surrounded by home and comfort and family, fortifying himself until he felt centered and balanced once more, ready to continue living in the world.

Then he got in his car and left, a beautiful, lonely tune playing in his mind all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> There may be a short epilogue, but this is the end of the official story. Thank you to all who gave this story a shot, especially those who stuck with it the whole way, and ESPECIALLY each and every one of my commenters. You are all so smart and so thoughtful, and I'm glad I could share this with you.


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